The Brothers, The Friends and the Enemies
by The Orangest Child
Summary: The sequel of the show. Fred is finally free from Rossetti's dangerous charms. But as the brotherhood is naturally falling apart and the artists start going separate ways, Rossetti, scared to be left alone, tries the only way he knows to keep the others around. And Fred and John's relationship becomes a little more than friendly. John/Fred, John/Rossetti as a dangerous liaison.
1. Episode 1

**Important! To be read in no hurry, with music, imagining every scene and watching the episode in your head, as I did writing this. Imagine every single detail, the set, the decorations, the atmosphere, the lighting, the actors and the characters, their faces, expressions, motions and clothing, their feelings, their eyes and their smiles, their voices and tones.**

**The italicised paragraphs are the excerpts from Fred's memoirs.**

* * *

…_'Yes, then I was completely free from Rossetti. I managed it and stepped out – and I was confident to boldly go on. We all seemed free then, so young and strong, but that was only out of our ignorance, or maybe blindness of our love. We knew not what kind of a person Dante Gabriel Rossetti really was, and we knew not what the true cost of breaking free would be. We were yet to know. We were yet to suffer. There were to be tears and pain, there were to be irreversible things. But at that point, we were still ignorant and foolish. We were just happy idiots, and of them the happiest – and the stupidest – was I. And I think that was actually right for us right then. Who knows how it would happen, were we cautious and wise?.._

_ We were all happy then. Johnny Millais was confidently becoming grand. He was loved by people, appreciated by other artists and thus rich, he had his wife, whom he adored, and he had his friends, whom he adored about as much – he had us all. There was an artist's grasp in him, but, being by nature humble and childlike, he was seemingly afraid to show it around us and masked it as well as he could. He stayed an excellent friend, always caring, but not making exceptions for any one. He loved us all equally, I may say, right then… or about equally._

_ He had eventually talked us all into moving to his house. Or maybe he just 'looked' us into it, or I don't even know how he convinced us. Rossetti just all of a sudden started supporting him with all the heart he could manage into something so dear to him – persuasion. All I know is that we ended up at Johnny's, and I was all but the most wanted tenant. I remember my surprise because of such a sudden change of Gabriel's mind. I was yet to find out the reason to it, but I let it go soon, not bothering. We ended up an 'artists' colony' in that big, clear house which Johnny's family inhabited so happily. _

_ William Hunt, the Maniac, still couldn't really get used to the thought that Annie was gone from his life. The idea of the house for the fallen women distracted him for quite a while, but then he would eventually remember his grief. He was quite lost at the time, but he was always the Maniac, never betraying himself. Always in the struggle to tame his lust, he was, just like I remember him now…He didn't shave ever again, and the women became of little to no concern to him for a while, if their souls weren't in his powers to 'save'…_

_ And even Rossetti was happy, no, he was happy especially, whatever he would say – I promised myself never to believe him again, and I did not! The story of Lizzie Siddal ended, however tragically, but it did. And he got over it unimaginably easily, after all, crying out about 'God's grace', wailing over his loss – yet he was happy, in his own perverted manner. All his manners, as I observe now, were perverted, and right then, I think, it became clearer to me. He pitied himself, and found release in it; he always loved himself in the others._

_ And me – what was I? I was another happy fool in our party, nothing more. I stayed around, always welcome as a man willingly giving himself to slavery, I think at the time they needed me more than I did them… who will tell now? I was looking for a good lady to spend my life with at the time, but was rather unsuccessful. Not that there weren't any good ladies around, for there was a plenty. Maybe I was just affected with Lizzie's death too much… I just couldn't find satisfaction I was looking for – in a way I couldn't quite explain._

_ But the house of the Millaises stood strong, as did our friendship, after all. But something was to come, although then we didn't know. Something good, something bad, but the things awaited.'_

* * *

- Fred?

Fred rubbed his eyes and put down his pencil. The light steps behind his back approached, then stopped hesitantly.

- Yes, Johnny…

John's warm hand lay on Fred's shoulder as he bent down and, with a wide smile on his face, put a large cup – where did he even find it? – onto the table. Fred glanced up at Johnny wearily.

- What's that?

- Chamomile tea, - Johnny patted his back softly, leaning onto the table. His smile faded, replaced by the expression of the most genuine concern. – You need rest, Fred. It's two in the morning.

Fred tried to hold back a yawn. Yes, his body desperately shouted in agreement with Johnny. His poor brain begged for a rest. In one fit of will Fred forced himself to sit straight.

These days the life got a little tough. Fred was in a terrible writer's block. He could hardly write a sentence, he had seemingly forgotten how to write at all. He didn't know how to begin first, then he didn't know how exactly to shape that well, and finally now he didn't have any idea on how to end. He was on the verge of losing his place, and this was the last day that was left for him to save himself. He was working till dawn, but couldn't achieve anything significant.

He looked up at John.

- Oh, I appreciate that, Johnny… but I'm… honestly… I'm fine.

He managed that in between yawning. John's face became even more worried, on the verge of childish sadness. He moved a chair close to Fred's and sat down, putting his elbows onto the table.

- But you aren't!

Fred took his pen again.

- Oh well, maybe I am not… I honestly don't know any more. But I know I must finish this today, or tomorrow I shall lose my place.

Brushing it off by saying it rather confidently, he looked at the notebook again, determined to win over that article. They sat in silence for a minute or two, Fred biting his pen, trying desperately to force something out of himself. He wrote something and crossed out the whole sentence, tried again… no, it didn't work. Fred wiped his face with his hand. He was finally lost. He barely even remembered what he was writing about. The tangled thoughts were losing their beginning and end intertwining inside his head, and his eyelids were way too heavy.

John covered the notebook with his hand, peering into Fred's face with almost motherly quiet determination.

- Freddy… for God's sake, leave this alone, - he was speaking in a low voice, so softly, the kind velvety waves of his words were calling Fred away, away, to the desired land of dreams… - You'll finish that tomorrow, I promise you, for tomorrow you will certainly feel better. Won't you? Just say you will, and let it go.

- No, I… I must… - Fred tried to take the pen, but the fingers barely obeyed him. John caught his hand and took the pen away from him. His palms were warm and dry and his fingers soft and kind.

- Enough of this, Fred. Just drink this and go to bed, please. I can't bear to see you murdering yourself like you do!

Fred smiled a little and leaned back in his chair, softly freeing his hands from Johnny's.

- There, good. I will finish that tomorrow…

John watched him with delight.

- Drink the tea. It must have grown cold already, - he said with a soft smile. – It will help you relax, you poor thing.

Fred nodded and took the cup. The tea was still warm, just excellent for him now. He took a sip.

- Very good, - he smiled. – Thank you.

John smiled back even wider. They sat in silence for a little more. Fred was staring out of the window at the blue outside, sipping the tea slowly, and John was examining him with concern. Finally he dared:

- I think something must be done about this all! It just makes me feel very… uncomfortable!

Fred glanced at his friend and raised his eyebrows:

- What are you talking about?

- You, - John shrugged simply. – I'm concerned about you. You started working a lot, you shouldn't work so much, really. We've all been struck quite noticeably with… Lizzie's death, yet… we should have all let it go by now…

Fred nodded thoughtfully. A couple of months had passed, and everything had almost calmed down, yet not quite. Fred couldn't even quite explain what was going on with him. On one hand, he was happy – quite happy to finally be free. But on the other… He'd been working a lot since Lizzie's death and probably had made it worse for himself.

- We should have, - he echoed.

John looked down.

- Listen…You've really been running yourself clean off your own feet. You look really bad, _really_. Just, I'm begging you, leave it for a little while. Look at Maniac and Gabriel – doing nothing but letting go… Let us have a rest, too.

Fred smirked a little. Yes, Hunt and Rossetti were 'letting it go' a little bit too often those days. He took another sip of his tea.

- I would gladly, Johnny… but the point is, nobody would make my living for me.

John smiled.

- IS this the only problem? Oh, of that you shouldn't worry! No, you shouldn't! I am rich enough to support all of us Pre-Raphaelites, and not for a week or two – for a lifetime! Fred, this should not be of your concern at all!

Fred couldn't help but smile widely into the cup he'd just brought to his lips again.

- Johnny… no…

- Why? – Johnny raised his eyebrows in the most sincere surprise.

- Well, because I don't want to be a burden on you, of course.

John tilted his head.

- This is quite offensive, Fred, - he said childishly, as only he could. – We owe you too much any way; you could at least give me a chance to pay you back.

- For what, for heaven's sake, Johnny?!

- For everything you have done for us, Fred! Oh, you poor soul, don't you remember?

Fred hid his smile behind his hand and turned away. It was probably the late night and John's 'relaxing tea'; he was just about to give way to his feelings. John was too kind… He remembered himself being sort of offended back then, but everything was forgiven, and for most of the things he still couldn't feel like he had any right to feel bad. For everything bad that happened to him, he was convinced, he had only himself to blame.

- Now, you're being a terrible person, Fred!

This remark, full of John's childlike indignation… Fred looked up at him.

- Oh, Johnny!

John knitted his eyebrows.

- Fred! You _must _let me; it's a question of our friendship! Or do you not consider me your friend?

Fred glanced into Johnny's clear eyes and looked down.

- Of course I do…

- Then what's a question?!

He rose and put his hands on his hips, knitting his eyebrows harder and only looking more like a twelve-year-old. Fred watched him with a look of loving humility. When Johnny took rule he couldn't resist – nobody could, too adorable a creature that man was.

- I declare your vacation start tomorrow! – John announced, raising his chin. – And whatever you dare say in objection I consider an offence!

Fred looked down, his eyes covered with the mist of sudden sadness. He quickly finished his tea and rose.

- Help me put off the lights, please?

John examined him head to toe.

- So have we decided?

Fred just sighed and went to put off the lamp and all the candles around. John quickly joined him, his glances at his friend becoming more and more worried again. They ended up with a candle for each, and Fred headed out of the room to his bedroom. John's light footsteps followed him all the way, but Fred decided not to say anything. Actually, he didn't mind. He suddenly felt somehow lonely, and he was angry for pitying himself, but this could not actually fill the void in his chest. Now he blamed Johnny – because he reminded him of all the times at once when he was used, when the Pre-Raphaelites talked to him as if he was _theirs, _someone they bought, their slave – and yes, he couldn't argue that he was to blame for that!

He opened the door and went into his bedroom and was about to close it behind his back, when John held it back with his hand. Fred looked back at him. He stood at the door, looking at his friend with a strange pain in his eyes.

- Go to bed now, Johnny… - Fred said half-questioningly, but John shook his head.

- I can't. Before I say a few things to you. You go t'bed, I still have to shape this all in words, they're too many… you know I was never too clever, I got no way with words, especially compared to Gabriel…

He smiled a little and Fred couldn't help but smile back.

- Yes... you don't need to. Of this I'm sure. You don't need anything from Gabriel, however I hate to say it.

He turned back and didn't look to John again. He quickly dressed down to his underwear and threw back the blanket on his bed. John brought a chair to his bed and sat down beside him, biting his lips. He wasn't silent for long.

- I guess you're right.

Fred moved his pillow a little up, against the wall, and leaned onto it.

- About what?

- Gabriel.

- Hm?

- Well, I think he's really a very strange of a man. It's so easy to trust him… which is not always good.

Fred nodded thoughtfully. Trust… how many times was he bought by Gabriel, and how many times did he find himself just a thing of his? Countless…

- I'm saying this not because I have something against him, - Johnny hurried to reassure in a little while, leaning forward, eyes wide. – He's my friend, my beloved brother, and you should know and it hurts me to see him sad. It's just that… you know… he's not my only friend. You are my – I dare say – brother as well, and…

A smirk touched corners of Fred's lips.

- Why did you think of this – so suddenly?

John looked down.

- Well… I had a little time to think and I noticed some things… which weren't quite right. And especially they were directed towards you. You… can I?

He stopped – he wasn't really sure if he could trust anyone with his little thoughts. Fred smiled reassuringly. John chewed his lower lip a little.

- I think I was blind before, Fred. But I noticed how easy it actually was for anyone of us – to hurt you. To do you wrong. To take advantage of you. And I understood we used every possibility we had to do that.

- Nonsense…

John glanced in noticeable pain at Fred's smile.

- I was just thinking that _we're _to blame, Fred, - he confessed with an effort. – You know, even such a simple-minded fellow like me noticed the changes in you. And… for some reason I thought that the death of Lizzie wasn't good enough a reason, after all!.. I mean, I knew of your feelings, you know that. Yet… maybe I was feeling guilty…

- There's no reason for _you_, - Fred said, unexpectedly passionately even for himself, rising a little on his elbow. – Really, Johnny. I… there are a lot of things, but _you _aren't one of them… although I'm glad that this thought crossed someone's mind, - he confessed, leaning back, a little bit ashamed on the second thought. – Just… I wonder that it was you… Although… who else, after all?

John moved a little closer to him and peered into his face.

- But then… maybe you should tell someone of all the things that bother you? – he asked in a low voice – he was speaking quietly all the way, but this was said in a half-whisper. He was offering himself, Fred didn't have to think much to understand that. He smiled.

- Maybe… and there's nobody but you anywhere around… glad that you offered, Johnny! But I already hate myself, because you're waking the self-pity in me, and I don't like it at all.

- Of course you aren't about to pity yourself! – John raised his eyebrows. – As your friend I won't let you!

- And I won't accept pity from everyone, - Fred said, a little more sharply than he expected. – Not even the closest friends.

John gave a short pained moan.

- Fred, I… I just… want to understand you better! Because as I look around I see that I don't really understand anybody – even my closest friends! That's why I was thinking so much about this all, you see?

- And you decided to approach me?

Johnny looked down, a little taken aback with such open a question, and didn't answer. Fred turned to his side and adjusted his pillow under his ear.

- I think you're better off not knowing, Johnny, - he said quietly. – You are a great man and a great friend and a great brother without this all.

Johnny gave no answer, and Fred just lay quietly for a while, deep in thought. Yes, the little man Millais was better off not knowing. Of course, Fred was perfectly aware that he was not really as simple as he seemed, at least not as silly, but that wasn't intentional in his behaviour. After a while thinking over the ways of the entire Brotherhood, Fred came to the conclusion that John had quite a lot of things stored in that fair head, but they all didn't have that coating of some restraint, or maybe just affectedness of the adulthood – he said what he thought, and he couldn't hide anything – neither his love, nor his unconscious ambition. In that open soul was the spirit of his childishness, he was forever a little boy, and, who knows, maybe that was why he was little affected by Rossetti? Taken advantage of, yes, and yet he loved Gabriel in his faithful way, but he wasn't changed. Their worlds were too far apart, and Fred didn't want Johnny to grow up. He couldn't decide whether it was designed for John, to keep him happy, or for himself – to have at least one man to rely on. He couldn't stand lying, especially to himself, and of the answer he wasn't sure. The only thing he knew was that he wanted John to stay the same – ever. But then – his own troubled soul was begging to let go, and the chamomile tea and the late night were doing their job. Fred softened, opened, and, however hardly he was trying to hide it, he, after all, really wanted to finally trust somebody. And if it wasn't Johnny – whom else could he trust with that stone below his heart?

- After all, there are a lot of things…

John raised his head and looked at Fred softly, recalling what they were talking about. He was quite sleepy himself, but seemingly determined to do all that was in his power to make his friend feel better. Fred was grateful for that. He breathed in and out, deciding on what to begin with. But there were too many thoughts, and he was too weary to disentangle them all.

- You know, I admired you so… and I joined the Brotherhood… to be honest, I still don't know when I joined it and whether did at all…

- Sure you did! – John leaned forward, putting his elbows onto his knees. – You are our brother, don't you ever doubt that!

- Now I don't even know whether this is good or bad, - Fred confessed, putting his hand under his head and staring at the wall. – Maybe I wasn't meant to be a Pre-Raphaelite. After all, I think we lost the meaning of our Brotherhood somewhere… maybe not all of us…

- Maybe you're right, - John decided quietly, when the pause got a little longer than comfortable. – But we're working, we're all doing the best we can. And, what's more, all the events that happened to us…

- I know I can not blame anybody, - Fred interrupted without pressure. – I myself was struck with Lizzie's death very much… and even before that – sometimes I got lost. I got entangled in this all – in the lives of yours and mine, and of the women we loved, in the feelings and the ways they were shown, in what we saw and what was for real. But after all this time I got so used to it I don't know what I'm going to do when the Brotherhood falls apart…

- Don't say that! – Johnny exclaimed in whisper. – Please don't! We are the brothers forever! We will never leave one another!

- But don't you feel you're all too different, and you don't need it like before?

John knitted his fair eyebrows.

- How?

- Elementary. You're changing, developing each one his own style, and while you _are _friends – _we _are friends – I'm not sure you will further need one another in an artistic way.

This thought clearly hadn't crossed Millais' mind. He looked down, playing with his fingers.

- I don't know what to say to you…

- Don't say anything, Johnny, - Fred smiled a little. – You just… you can keep this thought in mind, or you can forget it – any way don't let it change your attitude to the people you love. Just consider it a professional thing that has nothing to do with anything but work.

Johnny sighed.

- I will have to think about it…

Fred looked at his face softly. Maybe John, as he himself so often said, didn't have much thought is his head the others would consider overly clever, maybe he wasn't so smart, maybe he was trustful – but that was what made him and what Fred loved in him.

- You know, - he said, guiding his thoughts a little away, - I think I made it worse for myself. I got lost in the ways of the brotherhood, but I was always inspired by you and this complicatedness of our life. The words were born in me like the ideas are born in you – just as I lived, naturally. And now… now we have the calm. And I can't put two words together. Maybe I really should have given it a little pause… but I started forcing myself to do what I wasn't able to do any more. At least for now – I can not write any more. I sort of… lost everything in life that could inspire me. I lost the taste for life, you see, Johnny? And what should I do with myself?..

- And you can not have it back?

- No, Johnny…

He was about to say something else, but decided not to. He looked down.

- And now I exhausted myself without measure and I'm lost again, but now it seems like I wander in the dark. And instead of having lit myself a torch, I just ran forward, thinking myself smart enough to will have reached the safety by dark. I failed myself, Johnny. There's no need for _you _to blame yourself.

- Hey, look! Look, you're better!

Fred frowned a little, not understanding.

- You're still able to talk this beautifully, - John explained, with a smile lighting up his face.

Fred smiled a little.

- Well… in talking Rossetti can beat me any day, even when I'm in my sharpest…

John nodded thoughtfully and looked away, his smile fading. He sat for a little while more, a few times was about to say something, but stopped himself each time before a sound escaped from his throat. Fred was lying in bed staring at the opposite wall, slowly falling asleep. Finally John softly patted his shoulder. Fred glanced at him.

- You're almost sleeping, - John whispered with a little smile. – Have a rest.

- Good night, - Fred said, closing his eyes. He was feeling better, he couldn't but confess to himself.

John went slowly and quietly out of the room. At the door he stopped and examined his friend in bed with a strange look in his eyes. Fred glanced at him and smiled a little bit.

- Goodnight, my dear brother, - John said quietly, and went out, closing the door behind his back.

And, even this sleepy, Fred noticed that the word 'brother' took him a little more effort than usual. After a few moments of struggling he decided it just seemed to him and gave up to Morpheus.

* * *

John snuck into his own bedroom, got undressed quickly and slid under the blanket beside Effie. He turned his back to her and stared at the wall. She raised her head a little and glanced at him.

- Johnny?

He started a little and turned to her.

- Why aren't you sleeping yet?

- And why aren't you?.. – she looked into his eyes. He looked away.

- Well, you see…

Effie rose on her elbow and caressed John's hair. He was having trouble, he couldn't decide…

- You can tell me everything.

- I know…

He was silent for a little while. She was softly patting the light waves of his soft hair. Finally John broke the silence.

- It's just that… Fred.

He paused, and Effie decided to encourage:

- What's wrong with Fred, Johnny?

John sighed.

- He looks terrible. And feels even worse, as he told me just now.

- So it's him you've been so worried about all these days?

He nodded sadly.

- You know, he's such a dear friend to me… and he really loved Elizabeth very much. And now he cannot write any more… and it's all so complicated, I don't understand it fully just now… but I know he cannot live with it and cannot write, and he just keeps wearing himself out. I have to help him somehow, for if not me – who? I just don't know how…

Effie looked away thoughtfully. She wasn't jealous in any way; she had enough in common with John to be a little bit childishly simple herself. Now she was just concerned – for her own husband's health not in the last place.

- I know that Fred's a very good man, - she said softly. – And I understand that you want to help him. I think the best way to cheer him up is to get him outside. To the park somewhere, to the green place, where you can have fun and get some fresh air.

- Park, eh?.. – Johnny looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide, a plan suddenly coming to his mind.

- Yes, - Effie shrugged a little. – As far as possible from here, and to where there's a plenty of green and air and light…

- You're my treasure! – Johnny rose on his elbow and kissed her hard in between quiet happy laughter. – Now I know, o-o-oh, now I know what I'm going to do! Thank you, my dear!

She responded with a quiet laughter herself and buried her face on his chest, pressing closer. John hugged her and couldn't help but squeak a little in happiness. Yes, now he knew what he had to do!

* * *

The light woke Fred up. He wasn't a man to sleep tight, and now this light was shining through his eyelids and it was enough for him to wrinkle his nose. The bright light. He sniffed and turned onto his side, so that nothing could wake him again. He was about to go back to sleep when something made him open his eyes and collect his thoughts.

The light. It hadn't wakened him up in a while, and it was unusual and pleasant – yet something was strange. Fred frowned. He was still sleepy and his head didn't want to work properly. He opened his eyes as wide as he could, then closed tight and opened again. He needed to understand what was wrong.

Of course! The article, when did he have to pass it? The sleep was magically gone immediately, Fred jumped off his bed. Twelve o'clock, midday! He gasped and rushed about in search for his clothes. In such a fuss it took him a little longer than usual to jump into his trousers, and that made him even more mad and scared.

He rushed down the stairs, almost falling over, - he remembered he had left his almost finished article and all the writing tools there as he went to bed the previous day. But the table by the window was clean and empty, except for maybe those little decorations Johnny and Effie put everywhere. Fred ran around, looking in and on and under every shelf, everywhere something could possibly be hidden. Nothing. There was nothing. Someone must have put it all away somewhere only they knew, if only…

Fred clutched his head. No, they couldn't just throw it away! He ran back upstairs, checked all the bedrooms – they were empty. Of course, at noon, who would stay in bed?! Fred ran back down and around the rooms. All were empty, and he began to lose all the hope, but as he rushed into the next, throwing the door open with a loud slam, he saw Johnny calmly drinking tea.

John looked up simply and smiled a little at Fred – something cunning was in his fair clear eyes.

- Good morning, - he said softly, as if he didn't notice Fred's dishevelled head and crumpled clothes thrown on haphazardly.

- Johnny! – Fred exhaled. – John, now I'm not joking, if you did something to my manuscript, I swear…

- Did what exactly? – John asked innocently. – If you're talking about that thing you were writing yesterday – there's nothing wrong with it.

- Good, - Fred exhaled, leaning onto the doorframe and holding his hand out. – Now give it to me.

John looked up and took another sip of his tea.

- Well…

- Just hurry up, John, God damn you! – Fred almost jumped up in anxiety. – I already lost my place, it's noon and I'm still here and my article isn't finished!

- But if you already lost your place – why do you need it? – John tried to sound calm, but the strange, surprised notes broke through in his voice – he wasn't Rossetti, after all, and he probably expected Fred to behave differently.

Fred gasped and rushed to his sofa.

- Because, Johnny! – he exclaimed, giving out all his fear. – _You _are the grand artist, not me! I can not just forget my job, call it a day and relax! I _know _I have money now, but I will be out in the street in a couple of weeks! I barely got that place; do you know how much it took me?! DO YOU KNOW?!

He shouted the last words right into Johnny's face, leaning to him, almost touching the tip of his nose with his own. He focused on that face, on that beautiful face – and he saw the big clear blue eyes filled with tears and the trembling lips. Johnny backed off a little and managed:

- If I only knew that you will be so evil, would never ever try!

- Try _what_?! – Fred exclaimed, collapsing onto the sofa beside Johnny and burying his face in his hands.

- To save your life!

- Save my – save my life! – Fred couldn't help but laugh bitterly, raising his head for a moment and dropping it down again. – You've just _ruined_ my life, Johnny! Because it was you, who else?

Johnny didn't reply, only just sniffed wetly and made a broken sigh.

They sat on the sofa side by side. Fred, his eyes closed, his face hidden, was slowly calming down. After all, John was right, he had to admit it. He was already thrown out. Of course, he could try, even in such a writer's block, because it would be work done in the last moment – the best work, he knew for sure. But, after all, he knew that his smile and manners, considered however charming by others, wouldn't help here. He could say farewell to his job – but this as a bare fact did not scare him much for some reason. Now he just could not go anywhere and not get shouted at like he had just done Johnny…

Johnny. Fred sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. The poor fellow just wanted to cheer him up. To save his life, as he said… save him from himself, basically. Fred smiled a little and raised his head. Sat like that for a little while, then looked around, stopping his glance on Johnny. Johnny was sitting there, his nose still red, not looking at Fred. Fred straightened. He still hesitated, not knowing how exactly to say it. He looked back down at his knees, opened his mouth – and closed it again. Then glanced once more at Johnny. His righteous anger had dissolved. He looked at his friend and called, finally collecting himself enough:

- Hey Johnny?

John sniffed.

- Forgive me, - was all he could manage before looking away.

Fred smiled and after a moment's hesitation put his arm around John's shoulders.

- I'm sorry, John. Really, I shouldn't have shouted at you. After all you're right, yes. I needed this, I suppose…

- I forgot that your position is quite different from mine, - Johnny said quietly. - Forgive me, Fred. I… I'm stupid, but I didn't want to ruin anything! I'm sorry this happened…

Fred sighed.

- On the second thought, you don't even have to be sorry. Because you did that for a reason, right? You hid my article and tools not just for the sake of a trick.

- Well, of _course_ not, - John still didn't dare to look at Fred. – I… I just wanted so to make you happier… to make you the Fred you were before this… all… I wanted to bring you back to life… to the green… I couldn't imagine you'd get so angry!

Fred looked down.

- Well, actually… I think I overshot the mark a bit.

- After all, I thought I could always get you another place, even better, - Johnny finally looked up at Fred, and hope shone in his eyes.

- How do you mean?

- Well, I'm the grand artist, as you yourself said… - Johnny shrugged, and something cunning returned to his intonation.

- Oh no, - Fred brushed it off. – It'll be awfully inappropriate, using my connections with you and…

- Nobody shall be even asking you! – Johnny looked up and Fred was overpowered with the shine of that smile over the tears not yet completely gone from the corners of his eyes. – I'll just go and get it for you, for the sake of everything you've ever done for us! Yes, Freddy, I will!

And before Fred could collect himself from that astonishment with such a sudden change in Millais' mood, Johnny threw his arms around his neck and pressed him close.

- Oh God, Johnny… - was all Fred could manage.

- You are indeed going with me today! – John announced, releasing Fred and jumping to his feet. – Yes, yes, yes! We are going as I planned, because now I know I haven't ruined your life, and your objections don't matter! I _am _going to make you happy, Fred! If I were Gabriel, I'd kiss you! Get dressed properly, you don't want people in public places to think you are homeless! What will it be? Come on!

And he turned ran out. Fred watched him with a little involuntary smile. This pure and sincere childishness of Johnny's showed everywhere, and the way he shouted the entire tirade, however uncomfortable it made fair Fred, told him that if someone could bring people back to life, it would be John. He rose and headed slowly out of the room to tidy himself up.

* * *

Johnny rushed into his room in joy, announcing that the cab couldn't wait. He grabbed Fred's hand and dragged him out of the room, and Fred, grasping at his scarf as if it could somehow save him from that happy force, couldn't help but run after him. John almost stuffed him inside the carriage and they left immediately, John didn't even say a word to the cabbie.

- Hey, where are we going?! – Fred called, barely managing to tie his scarf.

- You'll see! – Johnny responded, brushing Fred's hands away and tinkering with his scarf himself. – Here, this is better.

He adjusted the knot and fell back in the seat, gazing at Fred with the cunning sparkles in his eyes.

Fred leaned back as well and looked outside. They were riding through the familiar streets, but he couldn't tell where exactly they could aim. London was big, and Johnny's imagination boundless.

- Maybe you will at least give me a clue? – he glanced at John.

- There's absolutely no necessity! – Johnny raised his eyebrows.

Fred looked into his big clear dark-blue eyes – and something strange knocked at his heart once again. He quickly looked away. That feeling was familiar, he had felt it few times before – just a few times, but enough for him to be slightly afraid of it. He tried his best to hide it deep, but every time he managed to forget he'd ever felt it, it came again, and the strange thing was, it happened every time he looked directly into Johnny's eyes for long enough to notice that they were of that wonderful colour. When he didn't pay attention to that particular little thing, when he had better things to think about – it was all right. But when his gaze stopped – even involuntarily – on John's face, without thinking about something else, his insides began to tingle in a strange and pleasant manner, but for some reason Fred was afraid of it. He never tried to understand what was wrong – he was too busy trying to forget. And so now he looked outside again and thought of the streets. The words and the thoughts started flowing in his head unexpectedly neatly, and the almost forgotten article and the place lost came to his mind again. He couldn't help but regret the loss, but he secretly gave up to the thought that Johnny would help him, and the hope for it kept him calm and gave that warmth of having a spare way out. Fred was kind of afraid that it was a sign of laziness of mind, which he didn't want, but he calmed himself down with a thought that why, after all, not listen to Johnny? He cast a little glance to his friend – and almost caught his eyes again. He didn't let his gaze slip to Johnny's face and looked absently out of the opposite window, then down, across the shirt on John's chest – and then turned back to the window on his side. Johnny was most probably deep in thought and his stare just happened to lock at Fred… he brushed the thought off and returned to the little mundane matters.

John never drew his gaze off Fred. And he was thoughtful indeed. But his dreamy gaze was locked on Fred not accidentally. Being honest to himself, as Johnny always was – he simply couldn't fit lies intricate enough into his head – he'd been spending a lot of time figuring out about Fred. He thought of him and his ways, as far as he could reach with his thought, a lot, he didn't know how to explain it. He was used to feeling, to accepting the world as it was, and this man was bringing in too much thinking and looking deeper, from the very first moment Johnny felt the sympathy for him. That's about when some of Rossetti's remarks began to strike him as sharp and sometimes outright rude. Before he didn't care much – they were his friends, they were all just people, and they all accepted each other with equal love… Johnny was a little nervous that he was thinking so much, he remembered that Fred told him he didn't want him to ever change – and focused on Fred instead. He examined that face – now calm. He had examined Fred's face so closely a few times before and understood that he rarely saw it completely calm or genuinely happy. He remembered it now for some reason. Now this face was calm and he was determined to finally bring a smile of genuine joy to it. It must look wonderful, he thought. He examined Fred's profile… maybe he should try and draw him? At least sketch… John's hand took the drawing position involuntarily. A tiny tired shadow right over there, and a soft line of his high forehead and nose… the soft dark wave of hair and a sideburn… such a fine shape, soft and a little sad…

- Gentlemen?

John shook his head and glanced at the footman opening the door for them. Then smiled quickly and jumped out, looking back up at Fred. Fred looked out and got down carefully. Johnny laughed at him and ran to pay the cabbie.

- Leave the rest! – he called as he ran forward, breaking through the crowd. – Fred, let's go!

Fred thanked the footman as he got out of the cab and managed to look around. Then laughed quietly to himself. Regent's Park! Johnny chose the farthest and the most beautiful place he could manage indeed…

He looked around and found Johnny's face and waving hand in the crowd – and ran after him, for some reason already smiling.

They ran around chasing each other and frolicking, like little children. In the middle of the respectable crowd on the trail Fred caught Johnny, jumped onto him and rode his back a few meters. Johnny's hat fell down and his hair got all dishevelled, but he laughed and carried Fred, until he decided to jump off with chuckling, causing the most respectable to gasp in indignation. But this time Fred didn't worry. Maybe it was because the grand artist John Everett Millais was running along with him this time, letting him ride his back and chasing him around – maybe. Or maybe it was just that his _friend _was around him. He just felt so natural and comfortable it didn't feel bad to be childish. After all, he was only thirty-three, he'd seen some, but had a whole world ahead, and when frolic if not now?

When they got tired of running, they would walk, chatting about this and that, and admiring everything and everyone around – Fred didn't know for sure about Johnny, though his eyes were shining and his cheeks were rosy-red, but he himself couldn't help but love every thing – living or not – around. He didn't even remember the last time he'd been so happy around friends – when he _really _felt loved, he felt like _with friends._ Walking around with Johnny he felt it to the deepest depths of his heart. Johnny told him his little stories, which didn't really matter, but were extremely entertaining – laughing at one Fred caught himself thinking he wouldn't but smile if he heard it around the Brotherhood. Walking around with Johnny, however, everything seemed funny, sunny and a little bit surprising.

Johnny had his arm around Fred all the time, and at some point Fred just felt so grateful he threw his own arm around Johnny's neck and drew him into a hug. Johnny laughed into his shoulder and squeezed him. And then Fred broke away and exclaimed: 'Catch me!' and ran along the path, as fast as he could, and people were stepping away – some in indignation, some with laughter, some even shouted something encouraging at his back – and so he ran until suddenly he ran into a huge dark brown figure with a paunch, which made him immediately stop on his way and back off, looking up and mumbling apologies.

What he saw up there frightened him to the dark circles in his eyes and the lump in his throat. He suddenly got weak in the knees and opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to say anything.

- Mr. Walters, then. Very good, Mr. Walters, I thought I'd have to look for you, but I guess I shall not.

Fred backed off a little more, throwing off his hat.

- Oh, Mr. Stewart…

This was his chief editor, and he was a very strict and demanding man. To be honest, Fred had been afraid of him all the way since he'd got the place in the Illustrated London News, and now his fear was back in its entire strength. He huddled up habitually, drew his head in his shoulders – and there he was, the Fred he had always been, curling up like a little hedgehog, hiding away – a scared Fred, a Fred who was always just shouted at and ordered.

- My dear, this is Mr. Walters I was talking about just now, - the editor addressed the woman walking by him with a little put-on smile. – I think we will now have a good talk, will not we, Mr. Walters?

Fred opened his mouth to say something, but at that very moment the bright sunshine broke into his life again as he heard the fast steps and breathing and Johnny threw his arms lightly around his waist, locked his hands just over Fred's side and smiled brightly at the dark-brown giant.

- Hello, Mr…

- Stewart, - Fred rustled as he involuntarily put his hand onto John's back – maybe just to feel that he had him around now…

- Oh, Mr. Stewart! – Johnny held out his hand, still standing half-turned to Fred and embracing his waist. – Nice to meet you.

- Mr. Millais, - the chief editor made a little bow. – It's wonderful to see you here, indeed. So, I was just about to talk to Mr. Walters on the matter of his… our work… if you will excuse us?..

Johnny gave the most adorable smile.

- I'd like to let you know I won't give you Mr. Walters, - he said simply. – You will never have him back, and that's flat. It's not my decision, but his and his doctor's, and I just only can support it. Have fun, Mr. Stewart, and excuse us.

And he slid his arm behind Fred's back to catch his hand and lead him on, breaking into running immediately as they passed Mr. Stewart. He released his fingers immediately as he felt Fred catching on the speed. He glanced over his shoulder to check on him and then suddenly stopped, caught Fred by the shoulders and dragged him to some narrow trail between the trees, brought him a little forward, then stopped, glanced around – and burst out laughing. Fred, as his back straightened again and he felt Johnny's magic healing spirit returning to him, couldn't help but laugh, too.

- Did you see that, Fred?! – Johnny managed, grasping at his shoulders. – Did you see his face?

- You undid him just fine! – Fred laughed in response. – God, Johnny, what have you just done?! I'm not even sorry for you, and neither I'm scared! Johnny, what have you done, I'm not scared!

Johnny's smile fell a little.

- Scared? Why are you supposed to be scared, Fred?

Fred smiled widely at him.

- This fellow always scared the crap out of me, - he confessed. – Always, even if when he wasn't around. And you freed me from him, you little thing!

He poked John's shoulder with his fist slightly, in a friendly manner, but John's smile was gone.

- My poor brother! – he half-whispered. – My poor friend!

And with those words gave Fred another – yet another! – tight embrace.

- From now on, I won't let you be afraid when you've done nothing wrong, - he said, almost desperately. Fred smiled.

- Sure, Johnny… - and, after a little pause, he decided: - Thank you. For everything. For this walk, for this day… you were right, you showed me the life.

Johnny looked at his face as he meanwhile released him.

- So are you feeling better now?

- You can't even imagine, - Fred said, pressing his hands to his chest – and at that moment he couldn't be more sincere.

* * *

The pub was packed with people. They talked and laughed loudly, cried drunken tears, sat and drank silently, jumped onto the others, were ignored, or thrown out; some were flirting with the ladies, some knew what they were looking for and just paid the ladies and took them away; some of the people were here for the first time, some were here every evening, some lived here; and some were sleeping already somewhere under the tables. And in the corner, amongst this entire mess, gathered the four people, the three artists and one journalist – or, better to say, ex-journalist, because right now he was being taken care of by Johnny Millais and spending his last money – though God knows what was his 'last', because he had not so little.

All in all, there was the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, the old company: John Millais, Gabriel Rossetti, William Hunt and their faithful chronicler and publisher Fred Walters.

It has to be said that neither William Morris, nor Ed Burne-Jones, did actually join the brotherhood or move in with them to Johnny's 'artists' colony'. Jane and Morris got married (although it wasn't a secret from any one of the Pre-Raphaelites that Rossetti still met her now and then, and not just to say hello), and Burne-Jones sailed some other way, but they parted and the Brotherhood was left to its original company. Nobody had anything to complain, however. After all, the Brothers were proven Brothers, and the others weren't really a part of the Brotherhood in its starting concept. The concept, however, was not followed this closely by the artists, after all. And this was the topic that was flying in and out and around the conversation that entire evening.

It was already determined that Hunt hadn't yet found himself another lady 'to be saved', and that Rossetti still had a lot of women around, sitting for him and not only _for_, when Johnny and Fred's day off was suddenly remembered.

- By the way, what exactly happened yesterday that you two came back so late, together and so happy? – Rossetti inquired, taking a drink and glancing from John to Fred. – You weren't seen with the ladies, - because you know what was my main suspect – as I would run to be happy for you; or working anywhere, in which case I would be around telling you my opinion, but someone noticed you running around Regent's Part, disturbing the audience. What can you say?

He leaned back and examined them both. Johnny smiled.

- I just took Fred to have some fresh air, - he explained, quite shyly. – He was so busy lately… and didn't look well… or feel…

- Johnny just simply made a happy child out of me and left me without a job, - Fred explained, hiding his nose behind his hand as it wrinkled in chuckling.

Fred looked much better. Even though the traces of weariness could not wear out in one day, his eyes shone. His faithful notebook was with him, Johnny had given it back, but he didn't grasp at it for reassurance any more. It was just resting on the table, and Fred was drinking and talking, not just mostly listening to the others. Maybe he was much rather addressed to by Johnny than by the others, but he was listened to, and, for the first time in God knows how much time, he didn't feel odd in their company.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

- Oh-kay, now you explain what this all means.

- He just hid my writing tools somewhere, didn't let me finish the article I had to present due today, - Fred counted fingers, - made me have a good night's sleep, took me to Regent's Park for the entire day, politely offended the chief editor of the Illustrated London News we met accidentally, and got me without my job, but I'm having the best time.

Johnny just nodded, and his smile was wide and proud. Rossetti laughed.

- Oh he-ey, Johnny, now you're doing well! So, Mister Prophet was running around with you? Someone's eyes noticed him jumping on you!

- Have you got agents everywhere? – Johnny raised his eyebrows.

- He rode you for five meters, - Hunt pointed out from his corner, before leaning back again, chuckling.

- Hey, how'd you know?! – Fred exclaimed.

- I was watching you, - Gabriel confessed, with sly flames jumping on the bottom of his pupils. – We happened to notice you in a cab, and thought it was quite interesting, because Johnny told me that morning he didn't have any serious plans for the day and was about to have some rest. I even thought – hey, strange!

- Did you have nothing better to do?! – Fred laughed.

- 'Course not! – Gabriel pulled a face. – What can be better than watching the doves like you, when there's no success in finding a model the whole day? And then – I see you in the cab, and of course, I took another one right after you!

- Where'd you got the money? – Fred squinted at him. – Do _we _not know something? Did you kill somebody yesterday? Or maybe rob?

His expressly scared face was excellent. Hunt sniffed.

- _We _took another cab, - he explained. – I was trying to convince him not to do it, but who could ever convince Rossetti?..

- And you watched us all the way?! – Fred raised his eyebrows, now in real surprise.

- All the way and around the park! – Gabriel announced proudly. – You were a great fun to watch. Especially hugging!

Johnny blushed, but couldn't help a smile. Fred tilted his head and couldn't say anything, but his face said it all for him.

- Well, come, you doves, this isn't even so interesting, - Gabriel brushed it off, showing all his perfect teeth in a grin. – Now how did Johnny offend that chief editor? I heard that was a scary man, no? Was that the big bear you hit, Fred?

- That was, - Fred nodded, fighting back a chuckle. – And he is scary indeed. Johnny, can you repeat what you said to him?

- Any minute, - Johnny said with a little smile. – I said I wouldn't give him Fred because this job was, basically, bad for his health and overall talked to him so that he knows his place. After all, it all was for Fred, and, you see… - he pointed his hand at Fred and smiled a little, as if he was entirely his creation.

- Not bad, you! I hope you didn't faint right after that? – Rossetti laughed loudly.

- Just laughed like mad, - Fred replied, remembering everything and chuckling himself.

- Of course, were _I _there, I'd say it a thousand times better…

- Were you there, you'd tell him how right he is about me, - Fred remarked.

- Oh, don't start your righteous talk now, - Gabriel scoffed.

Fred laughed it off.

- You two shouldn't have been so casual with the chief editor, though, - Rossetti reminded in a moment. – The revenge of the journalists can be quite unexpectedly cruel.

Johnny's bright smile fell as he examined his friends with those eyes of a little frightened animal.

- Fred, Maniac, what is he talking about? – he asked in the voice slightly trembling.

- Oh, don't bother, Johnny, nobody would dare, - Hunt dropped from his place, sending Johnny one of his short-lived encouraging smiles.

- But they can, - Rossetti shrugged.

- What could they possibly write?..

- Well, whatever they might wish, - Gabriel raised his eyebrows like it was no big deal. – That your behaviour is ridiculous and childish. That the grand artist runs around carrying a bad journalist, and they may even suggest you having him as a lover… no offence, Fred.

- None taken, - Fred hemmed habitually.

- Lover, ha?! You tell them, Rossetti! – Hunt scoffed as he straightened in his corner.

- What, everything is possible! – Rossetti smirked.

- This is too serious an accusation to be a revenge for something this little, - Hunt explained, rolling his eyes. – Sending a man to prison for but a little sit-down… don't you think it would be a little too much? Oh come on, nobody can actually do Johnny any harm as for now. He has his patron, he is loved and supported… and anyway he can make his pretty face any minute to say this is all slander and calumny. And everybody will believe him much rather, and the paper will look ridiculous.

- This actually looks closer to the truth, - Fred smiled. – Telling you as a journalist. They risk their reputation, and you, on the second thought, risk nothing!

- And… are you _sure my _reputation will be intact?..

Fred tapped Johnny's shoulder.

- If they wanted to publish something of that sort, they'd have done it by now. And everybody would talk about it. Don't listen to Gabriel, listen to Hunt.

- Listen to me, I warn you while I still can, - Gabriel remarked, but didn't continue the talk.

They discussed different things for a little while, when mostly silent Maniac suddenly, out of thin air, dropped:

- You know what? I think that the Brotherhood is coming to its end.

Everybody's eyes were immediately on him.

- What are you even saying?! – Gabriel pulled a face. – What end, impossible!

- Possible, Gabriel, - Hunt dropped, casting a weary glance at him from under his heavy eyebrows. – We're changing, we're not the same. Our styles organically flow to leave the Pre-Raphaelite original concept of art, and I think it's for the better.

- If _you _are tired of life and of everything around you, it doesn't mean everybody else is, too, - Johnny pouted. – Fred told me just about the same, and I think you're just being two of the most terrible bores!

- I am not _just _tired, - Hunt sighed, as he straightened and leaned onto the table. – Let's be honest, the Brotherhood died a while ago, just about when Johnny got married and had to support his family. The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and its philosophies changed us enough already, and we grew out of it a while ago. For some reason we keep calling our company The Brotherhood – maybe just out of habit. But I believe it's time to get rid of the brotherhood as it is. We will stay each other's friends, each other's brothers, but we won't be dependent on each other any more.

A wave of objections rose from Johnny and Rossetti, and Gabriel was the loudest. Hunt was watching them as if they were children. Then he looked to Fred.

- And why are you silent, Walters? – he called. – Or does it not matter to you?

- It does, - Fred shrugged. – But I agree with you, and I think you're putting it well.

- What?! Fred! – the pure indignation was on Johnny's face. – I told you not to say anything of that sort ever again!

Fred smiled.

- Of us all, Johnny, I think you need the Brotherhood the least. You have your style and you have your success, and you should just let life shape you as you go along. You, with your nature, don't even need us in the artistic plan any longer.

- They are my friends, Fred! – Johnny scoffed. – I will _not _abandon them!

- Nobody's telling you to abandon, Johnny, - Hunt glanced at him. – You don't understand, and you aren't even trying. 'The end' might be a scary word, but look what I'm putting into it – what I'm even talking about. I'm just saying we won't use the name of the Brotherhood – I think it no longer suits us – and just be friends and artists. I may as well soon leave your house and leave you happily without my presence.

- How is it?

Hunt smiled a little.

- I just maybe found myself a home good enough, where I won't bother anyone like Rossetti with my boring doctrines.

Rossetti laughed, but his dark eyes sparkled in ill flames.

- After all, you all have your patrons and supporters, and you are all great artists by yourselves, - Fred remarked. – Even I, though I'm no artist, can notice the changes in your styles.

- So do you think we should just abandon the name? – Johnny asked unsurely.

- The Per-Raphaelite Brotherhood is no longer but a name, - Fred explained softly. – Hunt's right, you grew out of it a while ago. Before you needed each other for support – maybe even material. But now you just have each other as close friends, and don't need material support, do you?

- You might actually be right, - Johnny admitted, looking down. – But we're so used to be the Brotherhood…

- Nobody's asking you not to be right over here, or in the Gardens! – Fred laughed.

- Just not officially any more, - Hunt smiled a little.

Johnny smiled back.

- Yes, I guess this idea is not so terrible, after all?

They talked about the idea for a little while more, making it clear and shaping it. And only Rossetti, that loud half-Italian, half-mad Dante Gabriel Rossetti, leaned back in his seat and watched them silently. They laughed and decided, and he didn't say a word. But something scary was dancing in his black eyes under the heavy black eyebrows…


	2. Episode 2

- Mo-om! Can we go play?

- Georgey! – Effie glanced to her son, raising her eyebrows rather pleadingly. – Be polite, please, sunny, the breakfast's not over!

- Let them go, - John smiled at her. – They're just children. Let them call Ellie and go to play.

Effie glanced to her three children, sitting at the table evidently bored. Especially bored was little Effie, she was only four and loved running around not less than the boys. She was picking the last leftover piece from her plate and dropping it back again and again. Five-year-old George, whom she was talking to, was watching his parents in hope. And Everett, the oldest – he was soon to turn six – adopted a stately pose, feeling his responsibility, but he was glancing to George with curiosity and anticipation: after all, he was just a little boy.

- Well… let it be, - Effie finally gave up. – Everett, ring Ellie. Oh my, Alice woke up again!

The last statement was the answer to the child crying. Newborn Alice Millais was the sixth, and the youngest, of Millais children. She and two-year-old Mary were supervised by Effie herself, as far as she could manage – and that she could not very much. In most cases Ellie helped – she was the family's nurse and governess, and, of course, a faithful friend, as John and Effie both claimed wholeheartedly.

Effie jumped to her feet and hurried to the room where Mary and Alice were with Ellie at that moment. She would probably stay with Alice now, letting the nurse go with the other five.

* * *

The morning was bright, the sun was flowing into the windows as they were all at breakfast at one table. They were actually finishing their meal when Effie had to run away so suddenly, it passed in quiet talks on mundane matters and passing this and that from time to time. The many Millais children ran out of the table with cheerful cries, Everett as the oldest called for Ellie and the poor plump lady, oh-ing and ah-ing around, gathered them beside her, like a mother bird, and led them out, constantly quietly shushing, leaving the adults in this warm company. But the warm company had each one their own plans and circumstances, and they all wouldn't stay at the table for long.

Rossetti rose, examining obviously hung-over Hunt with a morose face.

- I shall now go and mourn, - he announced, leaving the table and heading out to the living room, where he had left his easel the previous day.

- He's in a quite melancholic mood today, - Fred hemmed. – This hasn't happened in a while.

- And Maniac is feeling bad almost every day lately, - Johnny mumbled, concerned. – Maniac, if you need help, I…

- I don't need help, - Hunt replied in a dying voice. – I will go to sleep now. I can't work with this headache. I'll be back when I feel better.

- Are you sure you'll ever feel better visiting Gardens so often? – Fred asked with doubt.

Hunt gave him such a heavy look Fred decided he had better not be born.

- Keep your mouth shut, Walters, - William dropped, before walking heavily out of the dining room.

Fred and John watched him go, then exchanged glances. Fred immediately lost all the appetite. He moved his plate with the leftovers away and straightened, moving his shoulders uneasily. Johnny put his hand on Fred's back softly. Fred glanced at him.

- It's all right, - John smiled. – He'll now sleep it off and be kind.

Fred looked down.

- Here's hope.

Johnny examined his face with a little smile.

- Fred…

- I'm concerned, - Fred said thoughtfully. – You know, they always go to the Gardens together with Gabriel. First of all, it's too often. But then… have you seen Gabriel?

- Yes, - Johnny looked away, narrowing his eyes, - he's mourning today…

- I'm not talking about today, - Fred said quietly. – Today he's in a bad mood, but, after all, have you noticed? Maniac always feels terrible the morning after – when did he work for the last time?!

John shrugged.

- I don't remember…

- That's it! – Fred looked up at him. – Because he _doesn't _work any more. And Gabriel always feels normal in the morning. Doesn't it seem… strange?

Johnny shrugged.

- Maybe…

- After all, Hunt was always successful in fighting his passions, - Fred remarked, standing up and beginning to pace up and down the room. – Remember?

- Before he met Annie Miller, - John reminded, not drawing his eyes from Fred and licking his lips.

- This is another kind of passion! – Fred scoffed. – Johnny, I'm worried for Hunt.

- Maybe you should just talk to him then? – John asked simply. – Catch a moment when he's kind… when he feels better… and then.

Fred stopped, leaning onto the back of the chair, and nodded thoughtfully.

- Yes, probably. I will try.

The silence fell. Johnny politely waited a minute before humbly rising and looking at Fred with a suggestive smile.

- Fred?

- What?

- You know, I've been thinking a lot… about how you said you didn't feel comfortable being supported by me. While for me, I can assure you, it's not a bother, I wanted to make it more comfortable for you. And, you know, I have come up with a possible solution.

His smile was little and his tone polite, but his eyes were shining. Fred tilted his head.

- Oh yes? And… what did you invent?

John left the table – finally, - locked his fingers in front of his chest – for reassurance – and looked up.

- So, you know that, unlike poor Maniac, I still work. And I'm constantly looking for fresh ideas and inspiration. So, I was watching you… during our walks, and just every day… and I was studying some… books, you know… and got the inspiration for a work. It will be a big painting, I have a few sketches and I'm overall satisfied. But I need a model. A male model for the knight errant.

Fred's eyebrows slowly arched upwards. But Johnny kept looking away, he didn't notice it. He went on, passion slowly getting over the hesitation:

- And I thought that, as any one needs to make his living, and I'm willing to support you and help you, as my dear friend, I decided… - he finally dared to look at Fred's face before finishing, suddenly humbly: - to suggest that you model for me.

Fred opened his mouth – and closed it again, his eyes wide, an unbelieving smile on his face.

- I… Johnny, no! – he exclaimed. – No and no!

- But why?! – John raised his eyebrows pleadingly.

- Well, _because_, Johnny! Do you even understand what you're suggesting?!

Fred was backing off. Johnny stepped after him, his eyes already sparkling. In his mind it was such a wonderful idea – and now Fred was so openly against it. It made him confused and miserable to the point, and he tried to defend himself:

_- Of course _I understand!

- No you don't! – Fred pointed his finger at Johnny. – As you said to Gabriel: what do you suggest – I prostitute myself?

- Fred! – tears sparkled in Johnny's eyes at such a misunderstanding. – Freddy, what are you saying?! I'm not suggesting anything _of that_, of course! I won't even make you pose nude, God, my aim was to make it as comfortable for you as possible, not embarrass and shame you! And I'm not going to shout about this on every corner – and even if somebody knows, you're _a man_, thankfully nobody has heard of a fallen _man_! I was just trying to make it official: work for me – just for me, for your friend – as a model!

- No, – Fred said, stopping on one place, the sarcastic smile leaving his face. – I won't take the money from you, Johnny. No way will you persuade me.

- But it will be official! – Johnny looked desperately into his face. – Fred, I _employ _you!

- That's it! – Fred pointed his finger at John. – That's it, Johnny. The employer and his man can't be friends. And we're friends, is that right? I'm afraid for our friendship; it's too dear to me…

Their gazes met for a moment – and Johnny's blue eyes stung Fred in the very heart. The poor little artist – and one wouldn't call that beady-eyed creature any different at that moment – stood there nothing but pleading, and Fred hesitated for a moment – before looking down. Everything not to see him. Fred had to stay faithful to himself.

- Besides… I can imagine Ruskin coming to see your work, - he confessed in a fallen voice, - and he might as well be unsatisfied with your choice. And he will tell you everything he thinks about my face and body and… whatnot… - he smirked bitterly. – I can almost see it already: he examines your painting and says: 'John, your knight's face is too journalistic. A man with such a soft weak chin and such scared eyes can't be a knight, John. Why does he remind me so of a stiff self-doubting journalist, tell me?' – Fred parodied Ruskin's manner quite well – Johnny hid his unbidden smile behind his hand. Fred glanced at him and changed the character: - And you say: 'Well, because I painted him off of a journalist…' And he just looks at me like this… and hems as if he's learned us and we bore him unimaginably… and tells you the work is shit.

- If this happens, - Johnny bit back his smile, - I can assure you, I will go even against Ruskin! This painting is a great idea and I'm determined to make it. And, for heaven's sake, don't abase yourself like this! You are a good man, and definitely a knight – and, believe the artist, I've seen a plenty of people.

Fred smiled and looked away.

- However much I love good flattery, the answer is still 'no', Johnny.

- Fred…

- But you heard me, - Fred repeated without pressure. – I will stick to my word.

Johnny gave a pained gasp.

- Fred, you don't understand what you're doing to me! If you don't model, I won't be able to paint at all!

He took both Fred's hands in his and looked into his eyes – and however ridiculous and Rossetti-like he sounded, his big blue eyes were sincere. Fred looked down and quickly freed his hands from his friend's.

- Johnny…

Johnny caught his hands again, and again as Fred freed them, until he was forced to look up and their eyes met.

- I'm begging you, - Johnny said quietly, and his eyes sparkled. – You are an artist as well, an artist of word, but you can understand how great my need is. Fred, don't be cruel. This idea is stuck in my head, I want to work so terribly!

Fred looked away, talking his hands back one more time. Johnny chose the surest – and the most painful – way of persuasion. The worst thing was his unimaginable honesty. In quiet despair, Fred understood that although he was now free from the dangerous, wicked and intricate charms of one man, he was absolutely helpless in front of the innocent eyes of another one. He glanced up. Johnny was watching him pleadingly. He decided the last way he knew:

- Well, let it be, Fred. I just wanted to be honest with you, but if you still don't want – I have another variant. You can consider this a repay of your debt – though I do not see one, but… but if you wish so, be it so. I support you – you model for me. At least leave me this variant, if you don't want anything else!

Fred glanced at him again – and looked back down. Johnny's eyes were sparkling, he looked like an orphaned child. Either Fred was going to stick to his 'no' and offend this little man to tears – or finally agree and admit his own helplessness…

- Well… - he finally dared to look at Johnny. – If only as a repay…

- I knew, I knew you'd have a heart! – and with this joyous exclaim Johnny threw himself on Fred's neck. – Fred, my dear friend, I knew you would understand me! I knew!

His tears had all magically dried, he clung to Fred with his entire body and whispered, squealed and mouthed his thanks – thousands. Then – again, all of a sudden – let go of him and exclaimed:

- I _must _show you the sketches! Come on, you must see it!

And he grabbed Fred's sleeve and dragged him after himself to the studio, already smiling in impatient excitement.

* * *

Fred hadn't been to Johnny's new studio yet. As soon as he was let go of and Johnny rushed to the table in search of the necessary sketches, he took a moment to look around.

Yes, being single and living in that apartment of his Johnny was contented with much less than what he had now. This studio was big and filled with light. Sketches, palettes and draperies were tossed all around in magnificent mess, a few unfinished paintings were standing here and there – some of them were obviously long abandoned, on one or two Johnny must have been working not so long ago. Fred went quietly towards the window, stepping carefully, not to break or stain anything on the floor. He stopped, leaning onto the window sill and pressed his forehead to the glass. Johnny was rustling with the paper, his heels were clicking from time to time, he was murmuring something – and from outside, from the street, the horses' hoofs were knocking on the paving stones, the muffled calls could be heard, and all this was flooded with light, with bright and warm sunlight, and Fred held his breath in quiet admiration…

- Here.

He turned, startled. Johnny smiled, handing him two or three pieces of paper. And, seeing Fred's confused gaze, explained:

- The sketches. For the Knight.

- Ah…

Fred took the sketches from John's hand and looked at the first. It took him a few moments to finally completely return from his paradise to the studio. John watched him, and the curiosity and excitement in his bright eyes were replaced with strange waiting tenderness.

Fred was examining the sketch. The knight's figure was stately in tension. The light, soft, roundish lines suggested the outline of the body of the female nude. As far as Fred could tell, she was tied to something, - a tree, - and the knight's sword was just about to cut the rope. Fred tilted his head slightly. The woman was turning to her saviour, staring right into his eyes, and the slight outline of the face suggested quite an intense expression…

- Oh Johnny… - Fred smiled involuntarily. – A fallen woman? Again? Shame on you, this theme is quite overused!

- What fallen woman? – Johnny knitted his light eyebrows.

- This one, - Fred's finger moved softly along the woman's shoulder and arm.

- But this is not a fallen woman, Fred, - John smiled at such a stupid thought. – Can't you see, she's _just_ a woman whom the knight is about to free!

- Then why is she staring? – Fred glanced at Johnny. – Not that I mind, but there might be suggestions, you know…

John sniffed.

- And where should she look, being saved, waiting for it impatiently?!

Fred shrugged. Actually, John was right: where would a woman look, being saved? And, what's more, in the composition sketches Johnny didn't really bother with faces, so the expression could as well change in the process of work… he smiled.

- And so I am the knight.

Johnny's own smile shone.

- Yes.

- And who is she? The woman I am saving.

- My life you saved, agreeing to model for me.

Fred glanced at Johnny, at his sly eyes and wrinkling nose, and they both laughed.

- So do you like it? – John peered into Fred's face in hope.

Fred looked at the sketch, then at Johnny, and responded with a wide smile.

- Y – You do?

- I am still not a knight.

Johnny rolled his eyes.

- But what, Johnny?! A knight should be a masculine, athletic man, strong enough to carry his armour on himself, and brave enough to spend all his life with no home, dedicating it to the others. Have you seen me?

- I have, indeed, - John replied busily, turning Fred's face to himself without much unnecessary restraint and examining it with the most serious and concerned expression. His little warm fingers slid under his chin, raising it a little, then adjusted the turning angle of his face, fingertips on Fred's cheekbones, ever so slightly. Fred inhaled, a little startled. Of course, Johnny was an artist, he could do whatever he wished, adjust his model however he would choose to, but this… Fred felt an excited tremble below his heart and lower, in his abdomen, then it suddenly curled tightly up and for barely a second all he could see was the fuzzy light, and the air gained a strange smell. He got scared, and backed off a little, freeing his face from Johnny's fingers.

- Johnny, ah – are you listening to me?

- I would like to find the facial expression now, - Johnny quickly adopted his professional tone of voice. – I'd like to start immediately.

- Johnny, listen… I don't even have the face of a knight!

- How do you think the men were knighted? – John looked into his eyes piercingly. – Do you think that if a brave young man had a soft charming smile, or a pale complexion, or freckles, or long lashes, they would disregard everything he had done? Do you think that they would see him and tell him: 'You're not masculine enough to be a knight'?

- I must be a descendant of a peaceful old watchmaker, - Fred smirked.

- What's so bad about old watchmakers?

He glanced up at Johnny.

- Even a son of a peaceful old watchmaker can be a fearless knight, - Johnny assured with a smile, leaving Fred's side to take the paper and the pencil. – You can stay like this, Fred. Just… imagine yourself in the painting. You have just defeated the three robbers and molesters; the blood hasn't yet dried on your sword. _Be _the knight errant, Fred. Right now.

Fred glanced at his own hands. Looked at his friend doubtfully. Johnny sat down, pencil in his hand, holding the board with the paper habitually.

- Imagine that, - he said. – There, behind that window you're standing by… no, right in front of you – there you have just seen the most brutal injustice, the most despicable harm – and you defeated it. I need this all in your face.

Fred focused on the shelf. Now he understood he had to be serious. He agreed and had to work. After all, that was about the only repay he could make Johnny. In a moment he envisioned the lady from the painting there – tied to a tree, with a pained expression on her face. He envisioned her three molesters glaring at him and frowned involuntarily.

John examined Fred's expression. His hair shone in the golden sunlight pouring all over his figure, the rise of his chin was so noble, his eyes had the most perfect indignation in them, and in this lighting they were so clear and deep… and the slightly upturning corners of his lips gave a sense of a little, almost indiscernible, victorious smile – after all, he was the victor! So many little details Johnny was observing for the very first time – and with the sense of Fred's skin still tingling on his fingertips he didn't know what to do with himself. He looked at the paper, still clean, then back at Fred, unmoving, in the aureole of golden sunlight – and, immediately forgetting all the knights, started drawing Fred as he was – in his old, but favourite, brown waistcoat and the white shirt, and those dark trousers he had on, with all the white and brown simplicity of his clothes – gorgeous.

Something he saw was spoiling the view. He glanced to Fred and pressed up his lips. After a second's hesitation he rose, came up to Fred and quickly, in one move, untied his tie and threw it away.

- Johnny!

- Keep imagining, - John snapped busily. – Be the knight, Fred. You can do it excellently.

Fred focused again, but as Johnny's fingers adjusted the collar of his shirt, he couldn't help but give a little broken gasp, which he quickly made into a sigh. He had to resist. Johnny was an artist, he could to whatever he wished to his model… and Fred didn't know what he was to do with himself anyway.

John smiled as he examined Fred.

- Throw out that tie, - he said softly. – You look wonderful without it.

Fred smiled, but quickly bit it back. Johnny's smile suddenly fell, as if he remembered something terrible, he bit his lower lip and hurried to take the paper and the pencil.

- Here. L – let's work, - he said a little hesitantly, and Fred glanced at him in concern at such a sudden change. But Johnny leaned over the sketch and hid away in his little world which existed only for Johnny the Artist when he worked. Nothing could bother him.

Fred concentrated on the shelf once again. He managed to stand unmoving for quite a while, but after all his concern overpowered the determination to at least be a good model and not disappoint Johnny. He looked down at the artist.

A little wavy strand of Johnny's light hair fell down onto his forehead, and another one, and then some more, but Johnny didn't pay attention. He licked and bit and moved his lips as he drew, seemingly telling himself what to do, but indistinguishably; he was so focused, and his gaze as he looked at Fred was different. He narrowed his eyes a little, absorbing every single little detail, remembering every fold and wrinkle, capturing the very life. But his expression wasn't the one of the jeweller – concentrated on the precision. His face changed every single moment as he examined Fred, his lips moved, his bright blue eyes, a little absent, played with the most delicate shades of surprise, concern, happiness, sadness – and, Fred observed quite in surprise, admiration. He was not just living through the emotions of his character, he was admiring his model, and Fred caught himself wondering if this was the same with every model he had.

His little fingers, which always looked so soft – when did he even find the time to look so closely at Johnny's hands, Fred reproached himself, - his little hand suddenly became so strong holding a pencil, God knows why he grasped at it so tightly. Johnny was art incarnate, and however shameful were Fred's thoughts lately – he hated himself for looking at Johnny so much – he couldn't help but smile. A wonderful, beautiful young man sat in front of him, deep down in his favourite pursuit – and gorgeous. Fred watched Johnny's face and hands with that idiotic smile, slowly losing the vision of reality in front of his eyes. He remembered Regent's Park and his eyes and his smile – and, for some reason not even caring any more, enjoyed the memory.

* * *

At first Johnny didn't understand what was wrong. He just looked up at Fred and didn't see his knight any more – and neither the man who didn't know he was one. He looked up again, blinked a few times – and finally woke up to reality. The knight's expression was gone from Fred's face. But it changed, and Johnny didn't know what he liked better – the noble rise of the chin and Fred's favourite prophet-ish look in the eyes – or this absent smile as he was staring with unseeing eyes somewhere through his chest, giving out the real Fred. What was he thinking about?.. Trying not to move too sharply, Johnny put away his sketch – almost finished – and took another sheet of paper. He couldn't lose this smile, it was a rare gift.

He put the quick shadows here and there – just a sketch. And then he looked up at Fred again. And, unable to help his smile, he envisioned Fred a knight errant in shining armour. No, not yet – he was just about to be knighted, and he hesitated. And he himself, Johnny, the artist, was watching him and silently praying for him. Because Johnny knew that Fred deserved the knighthood. He knew he would be brave enough. He knew this young man was _worth it._

* * *

_'If I only knew then how really prophetical that painting would turn out to me, were I only a little bit more superstitious – I would never ever model for that work. Johnny finished it later, much later – and at that time, eight years later, we both knew the real meaning of that woman. Yes, she indeed was his life, but then, after eight years, we most wanted to forget the meaning which that painting turned out to have for us. Later on he cut out the woman's face and turned her away, in the sign of his own will to forget. The critics thought it was because of their negative reviews, their suggestions about a 'fallen woman' – as foolish as mine had been. Thank goodness they thought so. _

_ Things were to come. Were I more prudent and careful, I wouldn't be there, at Johnny's studio. I would change my mind at only hearing of his words about 'his life', if I knew what I know now. I would offend him – but I know he would forgive me, find another model and be fine. Everything would turn out much better if only I were more superstitious then, or more scared, or just more confident. I weren't. I didn't know. I was standing there, smiling like a fool, admiring my own memories of Johnny._

_I think I actually somewhat created Johnny for myself at that moment. I saw him in brighter colours than there were – maybe. But everything seemed so simple at that moment – so wonderfully simple. Just me, smiling like an idiot at the window, sunlight flooding all over the room – and Johnny, looking back at me – through me – and smiling like an even bigger fool._

* * *

Rossetti dashed into the studio without even knocking. He stomped a few steps inside and even took a breath, ready to say something – and stopped at the vision. His eyebrows slowly arched upward, and his lips slowly formed for a 'u' sound and he gave a surprised whistle. Fred was standing at the window and Johnny was sitting on his chair with the board and paper – but neither of them was working. They were staring at each other with the most foolish and happy smiles, though were obviously too deep in thought to see one another.

- Am… I'll come later, - Gabriel said quite loudly, taking a step back. Johnny turned his head to him slowly, for a second demonstrating all the blissful idiocy of his expression – and then suddenly the consciousness returned to him, he gasped, started, jumped to his feet.

- Ah… oh… Gabriel!

Rossetti tilted his head a little, catching Fred's second's fear as he drew his head in his shoulders, trying to hide away.

- I see you were doing some enjoying yourselves, you doves? – Gabriel remarked with a smirk.

- I – oh, we were working, - Johnny hurried, - I was just making a study of Fred's head for my future painting… - he handed Gabriel the sketches, as if they were the evidence he didn't commit a crime.

Rossetti took the sketches and examined them, slowly walking round Johnny. The artist, quickly coming to himself, cast an indignant and surprised glance to Fred behind his back: 'Why were _you _staring at me?!' Fred's face got such a scared expression that Johnny's look changed from angry to concerned, with not less surprise.

Gabriel handed the sketches back to Johnny, giving him an imperceptive understanding look and smirking slyly.

- What's the work?

- That one with the knight I showed you the sketches for.

Rossetti frowned.

- Wait, the Knight Errant? And who's Fred there?

- A knight, obviously, - Johnny shrugged simply. Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

- A knight? Him?

He cast a glance at Fred, still standing at the window, but already habitually stooped a little, giving that look of a beaten dog from under his soft eyebrows. Rossetti pulled a face, not even bothering hiding it from Fred.

- No offense, Fred, but, Johnny, - are you sure?

- None taken, - Fred dropped wearily and wandered away, to the farther corner of the studio. He could see where the conversation was going. Johnny followed him with his stare, then looked back to Gabriel, raised his chin and compressed his lips a little.

- I am sure of my choice, Gabriel, - he said confidently. – Look at the sketches again, if you doubt. I consider Fred the best model.

- Just because he lives by your means? – Gabriel scoffed. Johnny knitted his fair eyebrows.

- Gabriel! I would ask you not to say such things. Especially while Fred is here to hear you.

Rossetti shrugged.

- Do you know why he looks so scared again? – Johnny asked in a low, indignant voice. – It's just because he is too shy to model and you rushed into my studio so unexpectedly and saw him! He doesn't think much of himself without you, I don't want you to humiliate him even more! I employed him, if you want to know, and he doesn't live by my means, he's earning his living!

Gabriel smirked.

- Thank goodness nobody has heard of a fallen man…

He took the sketches again and examined both. He couldn't but admit that Fred's face looked good for a knight there.

- After all, I'm here for a reason, - he looked up at Johnny. – Effie called you. She needs help with the littlest girls.

Johnny raised his eyebrows.

- Oh sure! – he turned to Fred, quickly came up to him and announced seriously: - Fred, we shall continue a little later. Thank you very much, you are a wonderful model indeed, and I would like to make a few more sketches for future reference.

Fred shrugged and looked away with a little smile.

- Thank _you_, Johnny.

Johnny nodded, marking his job done, and hurried to the door. Gabriel followed him with his stare, a grin not leaving his face.

- Did you notice how he looks at you? – he glanced to Fred.

Fred frowned, coming up to Gabriel.

- How?

- With the precise eye of an artist, - Gabriel smirked, looking away. – Seriously, you had to see yourselves!

- I must have got distracted a little, - Fred said, straightening.

- Must have… Fred, do you really think staring at young men like this is polite?

Fred started fidgeting with his fingers nervously, pressing up his lips. He was clearly holding something back. Gabriel examined him head to toe.

- Oh-ho, so it is _that _bad! Come, come, prophet! – he tapped his back. – I know you're not this righteous after all!

Fred jerked his shoulder.

- Leave me alone, Gabriel.

- Quiet, Fred. I just could be of some help with Johnny!

Fred turned sharply to Rossetti.

- I said: leave. Me. Alone! – he said furiously, but his voice trembled. He dashed out of the studio and slammed the door behind his back. Gabriel watched him and smirked. Oh, he knew what was wrong. He knew perfectly well.

- Well, little buggers, - he said, examining the sketches he was still holding once again, - let's see what we can do.

* * *

Entering the living room, Fred had already slowed down his pace. Gabriel certainly didn't have plans to return here, and Beata Beatrix wasn't paying any attention to Fred, deep in her own world. He sat down in an armchair and tried to collect his thoughts. Yes, that distraction was inexcusable. He let himself loose, in such a delicate situation it was inappropriate and even dangerous… Fred pressed up his lips. He was ready to curse himself with the most terrible words imaginable, he wanted to run away and hide so nobody would ever find him…

And Gabriel… Gabriel bothered Fred to the point. Everything would probably be all right, if only Gabriel hadn't spoiled everything. He kept on spoiling Fred's life, maybe it was a revenge – or a curse… Fred ran his fingers through his hair. That little innocent warmth he had for Johnny – he wouldn't concentrate on it all that much, he wasn't even so afraid of it before, but now he was, he was terrified of it – all because of Gabriel. Accepting his help? Fred would rather burn himself alive.

- Fred?

Fred raised his head sharply. Maniac went heavily past him and dropped onto the sofa.

- Are you feeling good?

- Yes… - Fred looked down, quickly tidying his hair and straightening before glancing at Hunt and smiling a little. – Yes. I'm all right.

- As you wish, - Hunt yawned, stretching himself.

Fred examined his large frame and nodded to himself. He was really concerned about William, after all. However much he was afraid of him.

- And you – are you all right?

Hunt gave him a long look.

- Yes, - he decided finally. – Now I am. I had a wonderful sleep, if you want to know.

- Maniac, I… - Fred started – and didn't finish. He took a deep breath and tried again: - William. I'm concerned about you.

Hunt knitted his eyebrows.

- How so? – he asked, raising his chin a little and looking down at Fred.

- How often do you visit Gardens now?

Hunt took a deep breath.

- Fred, - he said preventively. – Don't start this conversation. I know I've been doing a lot of things I can be judged for lately, but it's definitely not _your _concern to judge _me. _Judge not that ye be not judged, if you know. I'm aware of my passions, but I'm only human and sometimes they defeat me. And sometimes I defeat them. Who are you, after all, for me to make excuses to you? Why should I make excuses to any one, you tell me?

Fred raised his hand.

- William, please wait a minute. Listen. I am not judging you. I told you, I'm asking this just out of concern. You are aware that so much alcohol as I can tell you take is awful for your health, aren't you?

Hunt pulled a face, but leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and putting his chin on his two fists.

- Fred, what are you leading this to? You're not a doctor, you don't need facts. If you want to warn – warn. Do you think I don't warn myself – a million times every day?

Fred leaned forward himself and looked at Hunt in worry.

- You have to do something about this, Maniac. I cannot even begin to imagine where this can lead you. You're a successful artist, but lately you're drunk every evening! Just think what can happen to you if you don't cease following Rossetti to the Gardens every night! He's lived enough by _my _means, I don't want you to follow my path!

- Ah, so this is what you wanted to say, - Maniac raised his eyebrows, straightening, and his voice sounded menacingly. – You wanted to say that Rossetti's the root of all evil and I'm weaker than you so I can not resist. Fred, do you comprehend what you yourself are saying?

- No, it's not, I… - Fred hurried, for that was a dangerous misunderstanding – or not mis-, because that thought had indeed crossed his mind, - but Maniac already rose at his full height in front of Fred and looked down at him.

- Listen, Walters, - he said quite calmly. He knew his strength and Fred's weakness better than anyone. Fred pressed into the armchair involuntarily. – I am not such a guided kind of a person as you might think, - Hunt said, slowly leaning down. – And what kind of a friend you are if you think that evil can be simply inserted into me. Evil _lives _in me, Fred, and my everyday task is to defeat it. But sometimes I fail. And it's not my friends' fault, it's my own.

- Maniac, I want to explain, - Fred tried, in a desperate attempt to sound calm. – I wasn't judging _you _in any way, and I don't position you as a guided kind of a person. I just know Gabriel well enough, I…

- _I _started this brotherhood with Rossetti when no one of us even knew who Fred Walters is, - Hunt said, looking straight into Fred's eyes. – And you say you know him better than me?

- Maybe, - Fred dared, unexpectedly even for himself. – Maybe it's the reason, William. You are his good friend and you might be preconceived about him. Rossetti is a perverted man, and I'm here to warn you about him.

- What kind of a rotten fried are you then, if you are trying to sow discord between the brothers? - Hunt narrowed his eyes. – You are a rat, Walters. I always saw you were just a rat. Look at yourself – you're scared. You live in fear. You're trying to hide away – but you won't. You're a _failure _rat. If there is any one living in this house you can warn me about, it's yourself.

Fred swallowed, but collected himself. He rose slowly, until he was facing Hunt – he had to look a little up at him, this man was huge.

- I will leave it for you to judge, - he said quietly, - but look at yourself. Look what you are turning yourself into. You were a Maniac – and the magnificent maniac, the artist, the pugilist, the man who could fight his own passions and triumph over them! And what are you now? – his voice grew as he understood how right he was, when he read it in his eyes. – You don't even work any more, you forgot that you are the artist – you're not a maniac, you are the Narcomaniac now! Your addiction won't do you any good, William, come to your senses before it's too late.

- Who are _you _to tell me who I am?!

Maniac grabbed Fred's collar and almost lifted him off the ground. Fury was burning in his eyes.

- Who are _you _to tell _me _what I'm becoming, Walters? – he almost whispered into his face, sputtering with rage. – Who are you, I'm asking you? You miserable being, despicable being, you dare say this all to me! You dare try and breed strife between me and my friends! You, who is afraid of me!

- Am not afraid of you, - Fred said with sudden quiet passion. – I'm afraid _for _you – and not only you, Maniac. If nobody else, I fear for Johnny.

- Leave Johnny and his poor soul to his _real _friends, - Hunt said quietly. His fury seemed to have calmed down a little at the sound of John's name. – This child will forever stay innocent as he is.

- But are you certain that you, his _real _friend, will be able to protect him and his poor soul, should the need for it arise? – Fred looked into his eyes. – Are you sure that you will not be blind drunk somewhere far away?

This Hunt could not bear. He raised his hand and hit Fred – in his nose again. Fred's head dangled to the side, but he found the strength to look back up at Maniac and, licking his lips, covered with blood, ask again hoarsely:

- _Are you certain?_

And another hit – it got right on Fred's cheekbone. Then Maniac lifted him off the ground – just to throw him back down again. Fred collapsed, holding his nose, and didn't look up.

- I am certain that if you only raise this topic once again, Fred Walters, nobody will recognize your body, - Hunt hissed from somewhere over his head. And his heavy steps faded somewhere – thank goodness he didn't give Fred a goodbye kick…

Fred swallowed hard – and felt the taste of blood in his mouth.

- Damn, - he hissed.

Justice was justice, and concern was concern, but he was bleeding on the nose once again, and for some reason he felt dizzy – maybe it was because of such profuse bleeding, or maybe it was the amount of courage he had put in that conversation. He didn't know. His both hands were covered in blood and he couldn't even lean on anything for support. He hissed quietly and tried to get up. Blood was dropping down from his hands – onto his trousers, onto the floor… Fred cursed under his breath. Everything was blood, everything…

He heard the light steps. They stopped, then suddenly started again, quicker.

- Fred!

This was Effie. She grasped Fred's shoulders and peered into his face.

- Oh my, you're bleeding! What happened, Fred?!

- Nothing, - Fred managed, throwing his head back. – It's… nothing…

- God…

Effie tried to help Fred rise, but that was of no use. She reached for her clean white handkerchief and, quickly pushing Fred's hands off, covered his nose and mouth with it. In a moment it changed from white to bright red. Effie jumped to her feet, brushing her dress against the blood-stained floor.

- John!

Fred raised his head to stop her, but he could already hear the sound of the door opening and familiar clicking of the heels on the floor. Everyone's walking sounded differently; he already learned to recognize people. This time it was Johnny. He paced out of the children's room in no hurry:

- Effie? What's the matter, darling? – and then suddenly gasped: - Fred! – and rushed to them. In a second he was kneeling beside Fred, grasping at his shoulders desperately: - Fred! Lord, what happened? My, it must have been Maniac, was it him? God, it was, I know it was! Effie! – he turned sharply to his wife. – Effie, darling, please, quickly, get a wet handkerchief!

Effie hurried towards the bathroom, while Johnny quickly put Fred's arm around himself and helped him rise. Fred was slightly weak in the knees, but he smiled a little at Johnny from behind his hand.

- Come on, sit down, - Johnny puffed busily as he almost carried Fred to the sofa.

- I'll stain it…

- Do you think I care the littlest bit? – Johnny sniffed indignantly, glancing at Fred. – You're talking such nonsense! Come on, sit down. Here…

He sat down himself, seating Fred carefully and examining his face in the most genuine concern. Then he quickly pulled out his own handkerchief and brought it up to Fred's face.

- Come, take mine. Give this to me, it's soaked already.

Fred glanced at him gratefully and wiped his nose with Effie's handkerchief before taking Johnny's. The bleeding was not that intense already, but it kept. Johnny sighed and took Fred's fist squeezing the blood-soaked piece of fabric in his both hands.

- Come, come, give it to me, - he said soothingly. – I'll bring you something right now and take this away. Hm?

He peered into his face. Fred quickly released the handkerchief and took his hand away. Johnny stood up, took him by the shoulders and leaned him back in the sofa.

- Like this, - he said softly. – I'll be back.

He ran lightly and quickly away – Fred heard his steps fade up the stairs. In not more than a minute, though, he was running back down, rushed into the living room and, coming up to Fred, pressed something cold to the bridge of his nose. Fred took the thing from his hand and tried to focus on it. He distinguished the roundish outline.

- What is this? – he frowned.

- A curtain rod head, - Johnny smiled brightly, settling on the sofa beside Fred. – Cold, isn't it? Hold it there, it must help. I knew when I kept it I would need it for something!

Fred smiled, closing his eyes for a second. A concerned expression returned to John's face.

- Fred, what happened? – he asked, searching to look into Fred's face again.

Fred sighed.

- Don't worry, Johnny…

- I can't. I can't just forget that you're sitting in front of me with your nose broken, and that Maniac has just flown right past me, in rage I haven't seen him in for a while… is there anything wrong between you two, Fred? Tell me!

- There's nothing wrong between us, - Fred forced himself to smile. – Just… you know William's character. He's so quick-tempered… it's really not worth your attention at all, and you shouldn't worry. To God, it happened by an unfortunate misunderstanding. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable…

Effie hurried into the room and in a moment she was wiping the blood off Fred's hands and face, then she covered his nose with that wet cloth and sat down by the other side of him.

- I sent Ellie for the doctor, - she informed. – I figured that if the bleeding is so intense, the nose could be broken. Fred, how are you?

- Better, - Fred assured her. The bleeding was decreasing and he felt almost completely well.

- Maybe I should talk to Maniac? – John put his hand around Fred's shoulders. – I think I have to ask him about this.

- Please don't, - Fred hurried. For some reason he didn't want the conversation to be known to any one, and he didn't know how much he could rely on enraged Maniac. – Please. I can assure you, it happened merely by a misunderstanding between us. Maniac has his sobriquet for a reason, after all!

He tried to smile, wiping his nose – the bleeding had almost stopped. Effie smiled back at him.

- I can believe that, - she said. – As far as I know William, he quite justifies the name 'Maniac'. Maybe there's no reason to worry about it.

John patted Fred's back softly. Fred tensed. The strange excitement was knocking at his heart and – strangely – throat and stomach – way too frequently lately.

- I think I am feeling rather good now, - he said, moving his shoulders uneasily. - So we…

The heavy uneven steps sounded and Ellie went into the room, panting.

- Mrs Millais! The doctor! – she announced.

- Ah, sure! – Effie stood up to her feet quickly. – Doctor Setter!

Ellie stepped away, giving way to a quite short, thin and a little stooped man with a bag in his hand.

- Good afternoon, - he greeted.

* * *

The nose turned out to indeed be broken. Doctor Setter didn't make any unnecessary comments on that fact. He just took Fred's nose with his both hands and in one sharp move fixed it back on its place. Fred gave a pained gasp – it was quite unexpected, after all. The doctor, however, was quite grave. He examined Fred's poor nose, cleaned and covered the wound on his cheekbone and declared:

- As a doctor I can say: Mr Walters is quite all right now and doesn't need any further special medical supervision.

With these words he said all the necessary goodbyes and politely took his leave.

John was looking at Fred with the most sympathetic expression, he seemed to feel all Fred's pain. When he gasped as Doctor Setter put his nose on its place, John flinched and covered his mouth with his hand. As soon as the doctor went out of the room, John cast a glance at Fred – his eyes were full of tears – came up to him and pressed him to his chest.

- My poor, dear Fred! – he exclaimed.

Fred felt the warmth in his chest and throat. If he only could, he would throw his arms around Johnny and squeeze him even tighter. But he was facing Effie, and she was examining them with tenderness, which gave the situation even more awkwardness. Fred smiled confusedly and tapped John's back softly.

- It's all right, Johnny.

John leaned back, not releasing Fred.

- God, you're so pale! You lost so much blood, you need rest! Come, I'll make you chamomile tea! Effie, my dear, please, could you walk Fred upstairs, to his bedroom? I'm afraid he might collapse.

Effie smiled.

- Of course. Fred?

Fred tried to assure her he was all right, at least strong enough to reach his bedroom by himself, but Johnny wouldn't hear about it. Effie took Fred by the elbow and smiled at him.

- Well, at least spare Johnny this little pleasure, - she said. – He's so kind, he just wants to finally see you safe again – completely safe.

And Fred had no choice. They went out of the room under the caring eye of Johnny, and only as they started going up the staircase they heard his light steps heading towards the kitchen. He never let anyone make chamomile tea, but made it himself always.

As they were in the middle of a staircase, Effie glanced around quickly and examined Fred head to toe.

- I know what you were talking about, - she said in a half-whisper.

Fred looked at her in confusion.

- I know what you were talking about with Hunt, - she explained as quietly. – I overheard something – I'm sorry, I wasn't eavesdropping, but I _heard…_ and I understand. Believe me, I understand.

Fred licked his lips nervously. Effie led him to his bedroom silently, letting him go in first. Fred went in and sat down onto his bed. She glanced over her shoulder again and followed him quickly, closing the door behind her back. With that she stopped, holding the doorknob.

- Fred, - she said quietly. – You said you feared for John. This has to do with Gabriel, doesn't it?

Fred glanced around uneasily. Effie locked her hands and stepped at him.

- Fred, please tell me. At least of me you can not be afraid, I can not beat you, I am not willing to hurt you in any way. I just want to know.

- Yes, - Fred decided after a moment's hesitation. – It has to do with Rossetti. And I understand, even if you were eavesdropping, I'm not angry at you, Effie. In fact, I don't know how much you overheard…

- I heard William saying you were sowing discord between brothers, - Effie said, rubbing her palms nervously. – Calling you… a rat. And from what I overheard further I could tell that you were saying something about Gabriel to William.

- That is true, - Fred said quietly, looking away.

- Do you know why I'm addressing you?

He looked up at her.

- I can not imagine.

- Because I know what you are talking about.

Fred examined Effie's face silently. She considered his silence encouraging, because she went on in nervous excitement:

- Fred, I know too well the story of Lizzie Siddal. Who can understand a woman better than another woman? And I see what's becoming of William himself.

- This I mentioned to him, - Fred dropped.

- I know why you started that conversation, Fred, - Effie took a step forward, at him. – I know. You started this because you know that this all is coming from Gabriel Rossetti. Because Gabriel is a dangerous man, and you are sensible enough to see it, Fred. I see your true intention. I know you are doing it not because of your fears or because you want to break the Brotherhood. You want to protect the others for you see where this is going. Fred, I can only encourage you!

He looked at her softly.

- I don't really think my methods quite work. Any way, Effie, you are saying this for a reason, aren't you?

She nodded.

- I am not going to hide my own intention, - she said quietly. – I'm saying this because I wanted to ask you for something.

Fred nodded:

- Do ask.

She rubbed her palm with her thumb, pressing up her lips, looking for words. Finally decided:

- I know that you and Johnny have got quite close. I know how good friends you are, I know you agreed to model for him, and this, I believe, was quite a difficult decision.

- But what exactly do you want?

She swallowed.

- I know you are a good man, and I know I can trust you. Your best friends even call you a prophet… I… wanted to ask you… if you could maybe look after my husband… - it was difficult for her to say. She bit her lower lip, then tried again: - Maybe you could just take care of him as his friend, you can affect him much easier than me, you are a man. I know all the failures and strong sides of John's character. I know he can be guided easily, should only someone approach him kindly enough, I know how trustful he is – it's all from the purity of his soul! I'm begging you, you, as the one who knows his poor heart as well as I do, and as well as Gabriel does – please, Fred, protect my husband from Dante Gabriel Rossetti!

She managed it quietly and passionately, then quickly backed off:

- I'm not telling you to be his conscience, of course… just… please, spend time with him so that Gabriel can not influence him as he does William.

Fred looked up at her – and remembered Johnny's face, his clear blue eyes, his smile – all the things he valued so much. He was asked to save them, to protect Johnny as he was – for Effie and for himself. This was actually his aim, but he wasn't sure he would be able to resist trying to replace Gabriel beside Johnny. He knew how strong the voice of his conscience was, and thus he was worried.

But now, he understood, this was a way out. Out of all his concerns. Effie shared his beliefs – this was one good point. She loved Johnny, just like he did, and wanted him to stay the same – here he could relate to her wholeheartedly. And now she asked him to do this all, what he wanted so to do and was afraid to do – to do it for her. And Fred understood how brilliantly it went as a solution to his problems.

Yes, he knew now. He would chain down that warmth that knocked from the depths of him – he would hold it back, turning it into pure loyalty and friendship. All because he would be keeping Johnny _Johnny_ – but for Effie. It wasn't his first time being someone's guardian for someone else, he remembered with a little bitter smile. Fred Walters, the one who didn't represent 'any sexual threat _what-so-ever_'. He knew he couldn't get from Johnny what he had got from Annie Miller in that case – and however he secretly longed for something (though, God forbid, not what he had got), he could draw an easy breath. He looked up at Effie and smiled.

- Yes. Yes, of course. I promise.

She smiled warmly.

- I knew you would understand me, Fred…

He nodded.

- And, by the way, John showed me the sketches. You are a very good knight, indeed.

Fred smiled widely and looked down.

- Oh…

- I just thought you might like to know. John said you weren't sure you were good enough. You are.

Fred rubbed his nose with his hand – and jerked it away as his nose responded with pain. Effie took his hand carefully away.

- Don't touch, - she said softly. – It's freshly broken, you must remember how it hurts. Poor man!

- It's the second time it's broken, - Fred confessed, hiding his smile behind his hand.

- Oh!

At this moment the door opened and Johnny appeared, shining like a clean copper, with a large mug in his hand.

- I brought… Fred! – he knitted his eyebrows. – What are you doing? Come, you should lie down! Effie, darling, hold this, please?

Effie hurried and took the cup from his hands. John came up to Fred's bed and quickly arranged the pillows so Fred could lean against them.

- Now lie down.

Fred took his shoes off and, smiling widely, lay on the bed. Johnny made sure he was comfortable, adjusting his pillows like a mother bird. Effie came to them and handed Fred his cup of tea, which he accepted with a grateful smile.

Johnny examined Fred proudly, as if he was entirely his creation, and looked to Effie.

- Dear, do you want me to go to Alice and Mary? I left them with Ellie…

- I think they shall be fine, - Effie smiled. – Maybe we would better leave Fred alone to rest now?

Johnny nodded with a wide smile back.

- Fred?

- I will be all right, - Fred assured. – I promise I won't get up from the bed and I will drink this entire cup. Don't worry, Johnny.

John chuckled, then examined Fred's face again, stopping a little more concerned look on a plaster under his eye, and went out of the room. Effie followed him, but at the door she turned and looked at Fred, making a second's eyes contact. 'Thank you', - she mouthed, then smiled and left, closing the door behind her back. Fred was left alone – and, strangely enough, he didn't feel much better, after all.

* * *

Something attracted John's attention as he was passing by the door of Hunt's studio.

The rooms in the house were planned exactly the way for no one to bother the others. They could be calm making love to their women, they could be calm working. Hunt torturing his bag in a fit of righteousness couldn't bother any one, either. But now as John was passing Hunt's studio, he heard the muffled sound of blows falling on the bag – blows harder than ever. He stopped for a moment by the door and frowned. Everything was quiet for a few seconds – and then a powerful strike fell on the door from the inside, accompanied with a muffled roar, making John back off. Johnny bit his lower lip. No, that couldn't be just Maniac's another fit…

He hesitated for a second, but finally recollected his courage. He raised his hand and knocked at the door.

- Get off! – he heard a furious voice from behind the door.

- Maniac? – he called. – It's me, John.

The fuss behind the door seemed to calm down a little. They were both silent for a little while, then the door creaked open and Hunt appeared in the doorway – hair dishevelled, shirtless, bathed in perspiration.

- Ah, Johnny…

He stepped away, giving way, and John went in with a little hesitation, glancing at Hunt.

- Maniac, - he said, stopping not far from the door, shifting his feet nervously. – William, are you feeling fine?

Hunt closed the door and sighed noisily, looking down.

- Not at all, Johnny… you look not quite well, yourself. How are you?

- I am fine, - John said, straightening. – But Fred, William, is not. I demand to know what happened between you down there in the living room.

Hunt smirked, taking his shirt from the chair.

- Ask Fred.

- He won't tell me. That's why I'm asking you, - Johnny said with a little pressure. – William, I know you don't like Fred very much, you have past offenses, I understand everything. But people don't just break each other's noses out of nowhere. What were you talking about?

Hunt sniffed, pulling his shirt on.

- Nothing that you really would want to know about, Johnny…

- William! – John knitted his fair eyebrows. – I'm a grown man, and you are my two friends. And I _do _want to know what is wrong in this house – _my _house in the beginning, mind you!

Hunt looked at John and smiled a little before looking away again. He went heavily towards the window and sighed.

- All right, if you really wish so. Fred was trying to open my eyes on what is becoming of me. After all, he wasn't so wrong…

- And that's why you broke his nose and hurt his face?

Hunt sniffed and made no answer.

- You just got so angry because he tried to help you? I had a better opinion on you, William…

Hunt was quiet for quite a while.

- He was trying to tell me it was all because of Gabriel, - he finally confessed. – That, on the first place, enraged me so.

John, who was already about to leave, turned back to Hunt, frowning.

- Gabriel?

- Yes, - Hunt sniffed. – He was trying to tell me if I spent less time with Gabriel I'd be all right. Can you imagine that?

- I can, - John said quietly. – I understand Fred, believe it or not, Maniac. After all, he has a reason not to like Gabriel. Do you remember how many times Fred was used by him? Do you quite remember how much we all owe Fred?

Hunt was listening quietly.

- After all, we _all _owe Fred, - John said. – At some point we all treated him as our footman, and he was just trying his best to be our friend. I think I was blind not to see it. Forgive him. I believe he has his own view, and if it's not in Gabriel's favour, it's, I suppose, Gabriel's own fault.

- You're defending him with such determination, - Hunt remarked, and a smile sounded in his voice.

- Somebody ought to do it…

- Be careful, Johnny, - Hunt turned to him and looked him in the eyes. – If Fred needs your defending – what good of a man is he?

- He's a wonderful man, - Johnny said quietly, a little smile touching his lips. – He doesn't know – he doesn't think he needs it. He doesn't even know how much he deserves. He's such a faithful friend… like a dog, forgive me for such a comparison – I just don't know a creature more loyal.

- A dog is loyal to the one who feeds it, - Hunt remarked with a smirk. – It's not love, Johnny.

- We're not talking about an animal, - John shook his head indignantly. – You're being unfair to Fred, however wrong his beliefs may seem. He _does _love us – us all.

- Are you sure we are not just his useful acquaintances? – Hunt looked deep into Johnny's eyes. – Are you sure of him? He's a journalist, after all. I never trusted journalists.

- How can you be so wrong about such good a man? – Johnny exclaimed in a lowered voice. – William, just watch him! Fred is an artist, just like us – it's only that he's an artist of words. And whatever occupation he may have or not have, he's a gentleman first of all, and a wonderful friend! How can you not see it?

- You are entitled to your own opinion, - Hunt said softly. – But, if you excuse me, Johnny, I want to remind you that I and Gabriel were your friends from the beginning, when you weren't grand…

- I wasn't '_grand_' when Fred joined us, if you remember, - Johnny interrupted. – I'm really disappointed, William. Fred wouldn't try and set us at variance. Nobody is forcing you to listen to him, but at least hold your temper.

William sighed, his shoulders dropped. Johnny threw him the last indignant, disappointed glance and went out.

- I can not hold it any more, - Maniac said into the air of the empty room. – If you watched me, dear Johnny… what has become of me? What has become of me?! Lord help me!

And he threw himself onto that bag again, roaring, his eyes wet. He felt fallen, he felt forgotten – and, probably for the first time in his life, he felt truly, unexplainably weak.


	3. Episode 3

Around the Gardens there was usual mess. Respected people and people who pleased the respected people, rich people and people who fed off the rich people, people who gave and people who took – and all this flowed in the mist of alcohol – cheap and bitter or good and flavoured, - cigars and pipes – and one or two quiet faraway corners with hashish. Rossetti and Hunt were settled together in one of those quiet dark corners.

A week or so had passed since the incident with the broken nose. Fred made it clear for everyone that he didn't want to talk about it and even Gabriel couldn't get a word out of him on the matter. Hunt was also silent, and Gabriel, not really wanting to get a punch himself, soon left all the attempts.

John decided that he and Fred would better stop working on Knight Errant until Fred gets completely well. He still wouldn't let Fred work, insisting that he needed care more than ever, and Fred – Gabriel could clearly see it – couldn't resist Millais. John kept on throwing Fred concerned glances and running around him like a mother bird, from time to time accompanied by Effie. Sometimes it annoyed Gabriel, sometimes he laughed at it quietly to himself. But he couldn't but notice how John stared at Fred when Fred wasn't looking. This gave him some interesting thoughts, but Gabriel didn't intend to share them.

To sum up, Fred had been running around with white patches over the bridge of his nose and under his eye, Johnny had been running after him, Maniac hadn't been running, he'd been getting darker and darker, beating his bag and sleeping a lot, following Rossetti to the Gardens every evening despite anything, Rossetti himself had been strutting in between mourning, relaxing in between working on Beata Beatrix, women had been lying under or sitting over Rossetti, Effie had been failing to supervise all five of her children, and the life had been flowing. And now Rossetti was sitting opposite Hunt in the clouds of smoke, in the forest of glasses and bottles, drinking himself not much, only just for the courage. Hunt, on the other hand, had lost all the count and measure to the amount he drank, and when he exhaled it reminded rather of a train starting.

They had been sitting silently for quite a while now. Rossetti didn't see Hunt from behind the smoke screen, and he himself was leaning back in his armchair, his eyes wide open, a little smirk on his face. Hunt was just about getting into the condition Gabriel needed. He waited merely a minute more, then called:

- So how are you feeling now, my dear William?

Hunt sighed. Rossetti could distinguish his silhouette as he sat up straight, but couldn't keep it and leaned forward, putting his elbows onto his knees instead.

- Gabriel… - he said in a hollow drunken voice. – You kill all the good in me… you… just… feed – my – passions!

Gabriel laughed.

- Don't you enjoy it?

- I don't… - Hunt dropped his big curly head onto his hands and sighed again.

- Then I know what to do to make you happier, - Gabriel straightened finally, his eyes sparkling in anticipation. – Come on, old chap, I know what will make you feel better.

Hunt moaned something indistinguishable. Rossetti stood up.

- Come, come. I know exactly what you need. A lady who will seduce you in a moment, and the next morning you'll be ready to raise her from the bottom and make her your wife! Did you pay for this all?

Hunt nodded.

- Gabriel… I …

- I know better, - Rossetti chirped with a sly smile, as he took Hunt under his arms and tried to make him stand up.

The man was huge. Rossetti understood it fully as soon as Hunt stood up spinelessly and fell onto him. He was blind drunk. Gabriel groaned.

- Co-ome, stand straight, you sot…

Hunt poured a wave of his breath all over Gabriel – he smelled everything he had drunk, and it was disgusting. Rossetti gritted his teeth. If he _really _wanted what he wanted, he decided, he would have to suffer. After all, a little of this he could learn from Hunt.

- You only move your legs, help me at least somehow!

Hunt sighed. He was of little help, though. Gabriel almost carried him out and into the street. There he stopped, leaning William onto a wall, like a sack, and almost falling onto it himself, panting. After all, he took quite much, himself…

- Gabriel?

He raised his head – and met William's gaze. It was still quite blurred, but the air of the night was rather cool, and Hunt seemed to have regained some sanity.

- What kind of happiness do you find in this, Gabriel?

This was such an odd question Rossetti frowned.

- What the hell are you talking about?

- What's the pleasure you find in having me drunk every evening?

No, he didn't get any soberer. Gabriel covered his face with his hand.

- Drinking alone is just pathetic, - he mumbled, in a quite annoyed tone. – Can you even walk?

William straightened.

- I… think so.

- Then let us go. I know one brilliant place where they can make you happy.

Hunt stepped forward – and almost fell on Rossetti once again, with all his enormous weight. Gabriel moaned.

- What are you even doing?!

Hunt sighed.

- I'm sorry.

He could walk a little better, but he still needed to lean on Gabriel. Having nothing else to do, Rossetti wrapped his arm around William, grasping at his shoulder, and so they walked down the street together, however hard it was for two drunken men.

- Is it at least near? – Hunt managed weakly.

- Have patience… you have to suffer a little, then you will have the greatest pleasure.

- You talk biblically…

- Just for you to enjoy.

William sighed again.

- This just reminds me of how low I have fallen.

Gabriel laughed.

- I remember rejoicing that nobody had heard of a fallen man when I found out Fred modelled for Johnny, and now you are telling me _you _are a fallen man!

- Any one can be fallen, Gabriel, - Hunt remarked solemnly. – Any one can fall from God's grace, just like I am doing now.

- But God is forgiving, - Gabriel laughed again, but it sounded as if he was brushing it off for himself. – You don't have to worry, William. As a mortal being, you have to take the best of your short life. These are the little things we like the life for!

- I'm wasting it…

- In a few minutes you won't be saying so!

Hunt looked away. Gabriel tapped his shoulder.

- Come, come! Look around, what a nice night! And it shall get only nicer. Don't worry so much, Maniac. Let go of it. I'm telling you, you will be forgiven! Tell me, why are you feeling bad, initially?

- Because I'm spending the night with you in the Gardens for which time in a row, and again… and in the morning I'm going to regret and have a headache and feel empty…

- And punch the bag. No, I'm not talking about this. Think, Maniac. People drink to forget, if you won't remember, it will mean that you are cured.

Two peaceful middle-aged gentlemen, walking down the street God knows why at such a time, glared at them and laughed to each other. Gabriel made a crude gesture with his free hand at them, and they laughed even more joyously, as if at the sight of animals in a menagerie. Gabriel turned away in vexation.

- Sadly, I _do _remember.

He glanced to Hunt, about whom had already forgotten.

- Yes? And what is your main reason?

- I'm weak, - Hunt said quietly. – I still can't live knowing that the woman I could truly love is not with me and it is my own fault – my own pride, my own passion and my own weakness.

Gabriel smiled. They took a turn and walked in almost entire darkness now.

- I can provide you with a woman you could love today, and tomorrow, and every day, if you choose. Knowing your preference for the fallen, I am now bringing you to… - he made a wide gesture at the simple black door in front of them, - this place!

His face was so proud as if there was an entire masterpiece there of his very own creation. William frowned at the sight of a simple house in a dark dirty backstreet.

- Where have you brought me?

- Right here.

Gabriel came up two stairs of the front porch and knocked at the door three times quickly, then waited a second and made another knock. Hunt finally won over the stairs without help and stopped beside him, reeling. They didn't have to wait long. A quite dirty woman peered out and, upon noticing them, opened the door wide.

- Come in, - she said rather wearily. – Just wipe your feet on the mat.

Rossetti wrapped his arm around Hunt again – the poor man probably wouldn't be able to manage such a distance all by himself – and led him in. He was most probably quite well familiar with the place. They went through a darkened corridor after the woman, then she opened one of the doors and instructed:

- Come to the very end of the corridor, if you remember, signor Mad.

Gabriel nodded with a wide smile, sparkling his eyes at her from under his bushy eyebrows in the dim light of the candle.

- Thank you, Miss Thomson.

She smirked and waited patiently until they went into the little kind of a hall; seeing that, she closed the door behind them and they were left in there alone, in the poor light of a single candle in the leftovers of what once was a beautiful chandelier.

- How did she call you? – Hunt made his presence known, pulling a surprised face.

- Signor Mad, - Gabriel smirked. – Every one here has his sobriquet. This is the rule. You will be Mister Maniac, I suppose!

And he turned the knob on the door in the 'very end of the corridor' and went in.

In the first moments after the darkness of the corridors they both were blinded. Everything that could possibly shine indoors, shone there. Lamps and candles were all around, forming a sea of light, leaving quite wide passages for the guests. Hunt looked around in astonishment. However much he, as an artist and a man of his society, had seen, he had never witnessed so much sin gathered under one worn-out roof.

At the door they were greeted by two women. One of them had her skirt cut off over her knees, showing off her beautiful legs and barely covering anything that had to be covered. The other one just didn't have any skirt at all. Rossetti probably knew them: he greeted both and exchanged kisses with them, which, after all, would look quite innocent, was this another place. Women of all builds, dressed in such manner, strutted around the hall or sat with obviously high class ladies and gentlemen in the darkened spots where there weren't any candles. The guests were enjoying hookahs; some were smoking hashish and other things, Hunt couldn't tell, which smelled strangely and pungently. The walls were covered with scabrous pictures and photographs of women whose profession was clear. And right at the entrance a woman without a skirt was sitting at some kind of an old shabby counter, painting her lips.

Rossetti glanced at Hunt, who was staring in amazement, and smiled at the ladies.

- Please, help my friend if he starts falling, - he said with a charming smile. – As you see, he's not in quite a good way, but I'm here to help him.

The ladies nodded with chuckling and turned to William. The one without a skirt started playing with his curls, the other one got down to braiding his beard. Hunt couldn't even say anything distinguishable in his own defence. Gabriel smirked and turned to the counter.

- Madame O?

The woman put off her lipstick and a fragment of a broken mirror and raised her head. A smile appeared on her lips upon seeing Rossetti.

- Signor Mad! My dear, you haven't been here in a while! Everybody missed you.

- I was resting in my righteous house, surrounded by the most righteous people, - Gabriel grinned. – I needed contrast, Madame O! And today, as you see, I'm here with a friend.

Madame tilted her head and looked at Hunt.

- Oh, I see. A virgin? – she asked this seriously, even professionally.

Gabriel smiled widely.

- Physically, no. Technically – as if he was. But don't really let his looks fool you. He's… drunken now, you know, - Gabriel lowered his voice, - and, you know, lately he's been kind of depressed. He has lost the lady he loved – she was of the kind like your girls, though not half as beautiful… - upon these words Madame O gave a slight smile. She knew flattery well, but she liked it. Gabriel nodded at that smile and finished: - so I decided your institution was the best place to make him feel better.

Madame O nodded understandingly.

- So how do you want it today, Signor Mad? – she asked, playing with his hair. – Do you want only your friend pleased?

Rossetti tilted his head, smiling even wider.

- Oh, Madame O, how can I resist your girls? And, by the way, he pays, so… did you recognize him?

Madame narrowed her eyes.

- Signor, - she said slyly, - were I somewhere else, I would recognize him immediately. In this institution, however, nobody recognizes anybody. This is not the place for staring, unless this is your guilty pleasure.

Gabriel nodded, smiling knowingly.

- I was just checking, - he said.

- And what do you want today? – Madame reached somewhere under the counter and took out a shabby notebook.

- Two ladies and a room for hashish – and we shall decide on the spot, - Gabriel smiled.

- And your friend's name is…

Rossetti glanced at Hunt over his shoulder.

- Mr. Maniac.

- This seems like a good name for a man like him, - Madame remarked quietly. – By the way, just out of worry for my girls… they are all different, some more sensitive, some less – he looks like a man who can be rude…

- I can assure you, - Gabriel leaned in, glancing around, - that this man will not hurt any one of your girls. Of whatever class the woman is, she's a human being for him first of all. You see, Wi… Mister Maniac is a man of very strong morals…

He lowered his voice to whisper. Madame O raised her eyebrows with a grin.

- And this man is searching pleasures in my institution?

Gabriel grinned.

- Well, of course, he's not always as righteous as he wants to be…

Madame responded with a knowing smile.

- I see… so, it must be quite long, is that right? I mean, your stay.

- The whole night, I suppose, - Gabriel straightened and adopted a polite tone of a guest.

- All right.

Madame scribbled something in her notebook and smiled at Gabriel.

- Two ladies of your choice, gentlemen. Come.

Rossetti wrapped his arm around Hunt, who was still speechless, and followed Madame as she left the counter and went calmly down the carpet-covered trail. Gabriel cast her a sympathetic look – she was limping. Madame stopped and straightened, pressing up her lips.

- Look around, - she said after a pause. – You know that all the girls in the hall are unoccupied, right, Signor?

- Thank you, Madame, - Gabriel smiled. He looked around, catching with an eye of an artist and a sinner the beautiful curves of the ladies' bodies, their shapes, their breasts and their skin… - I guess this ginger one… and that curly dark-haired one…

- Very well, - Madame O raised her chin a little. – Magda, Lila!

Two girls turned and went up to the Madame.

- Do you prefer them to get dressed? – Madame turned to Rossetti.

- No, just as they are right now will be perfect, - Rossetti smiled.

Madame turned and led them towards a dimly lit corridor, through it – almost to the end. On some doors there were hand-written 'Occupied' signs. The corridor was full of muffled noises.

- Do you mind being watched? – Madame O inquired solemnly.

Rossetti wanted to reply with a polite smile, but Hunt had already got his power of speech back.

- Watched?! What do you mean?!

Madame glared at him.

- This is the house of sin, Mister Maniac, - she explained, as if he was a stupid child. – Whatever brings you pleasure, you receive. Some like watching, some like being watched… and some like watching those who like watching. I'm quite often surprised with how much better we people of the lower stratum know people of class than people of class know us people of the lower stratum. I've always been curious how such ignorant people are allowed to rule…

- We'd prefer not to be watched, - Gabriel hurried, making a little bow and smiling ingratiatingly. – Forgive my friend, Madame O, he's here for the first time, and, as I said, wants to be…

- I understand, - Madame O snapped. – Your room is to the left, have fun.

- Wait! – Rossetti jumped in front of her seeing that she was about to leave. – Please, I want to be forgiven to enjoy what you offer without feeling bad. Please, spare me this freedom, Madame. I promise that my friend didn't mean to offend you.

Madame O smiled a little, looking down at him.

- You are forgiven, - she said calmly. – Enjoy yourselves, Signor. Mister Maniac?

- Bow, you idiot, - Rossetti hissed barely audibly, meeting Hunt's empty stare. William seemed to understand, despite everything, and made a little bow.

- Thank you, - he said quietly, looking at Madame with the wide eyes.

Madame O scoffed, nodded at the girls, smiled at Rossetti and took another hand-written 'Occupied' sign out of her stays. Gabriel made another ingratiating smile at her before pushing Hunt in front of himself into the room, letting in the ladies and going in himself. Madame O followed them with her stare, until the door was closed, sighed and fastened the sign upon the door.

* * *

Rossetti seated himself upon a cushion of those tossed all around the room and smiled at the ladies. Then turned to Hunt, who was standing leaning onto the wall, with the most ashamed expression. Something like sympathy ran across Rossetti's face. He outstretched his arms to William:

- Oh, come, Maniac! I won't upset you even more, just sit down beside me and relax!

William sighed.

- Gabriel…

Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

- Will you offend the ladies? Maniac, this is rude! Come, I know you still have hashish and you can rejoice some if you wish!

William shook his head. Dark-haired Lila rose and came up to him gracefully.

- Mr. Maniac? Let's go, my dear…

She took his hand and led him to Rossetti, looking at him, calling without words – playing with the vision of her body, of her heavy round breasts, of her hips in drunken William's blurred vision. He couldn't resist. He followed Lila, limped to Rossetti and settled beside him with a heavy sigh. Lila left Hunt's side and came to Rossetti, who accepted her with a little smile.

- Are you sad, Mr. Maniac? – the ginger Magda, called, kneeling down beside Hunt and putting her arms around his neck. – Come, you can't be sad in such a place, I won't let you…

- Oh, he won't be sad for long! – Gabriel took the little bag off Hunt's shoulder and reached in there. – We have this wonderful grass our righteous Maniac brought from the Holy Land…

- From Syria, - Hunt dropped.

- …and we have you beauties, and we shall be happy… you can call my friend just Maniac, by the way.

The ladies laughed. Magda licked William's ear, making him tense.

- Oh calm down, - she murmured. – It will be good…

Rossetti passed her the sebsi and the ladies joined them with hashish.

After all, Hunt softened. He let Magda take off his overcoat and unbutton his waistcoat, and even untie his tie and open the collar of his shirt. He didn't mind her ministrations any more, he just let her tongue slide and her fingers play all over his body, not even ashamed of Rossetti, he smiled at her whispers and chuckled at every word Gabriel said.

Soon all three, losing themselves and the others in the smoke, moved closer to each other. Hunt had forgotten everything. Their conversation didn't make any sense any more, it was just little words and chuckles. Lila leaned William back onto herself and ran her hands down his neck and into his collar, and back up, her wet mouth caressing his face and searching for his lips – finally finding – and withdrawing, caressing again… the curls of her bluish black hair fell onto Hunt's face, covering him, overwhelming him with her smell. Hunt gave a little sweet moan.

- Wait, this is not yet good, - Lila whispered, breaking up from him and exchanging glances with Magda. The ginger nodded slowly and moved up Hunt's side, pulling his shirt out of his trousers.

- You… not this righteous any more, my dear Maniac? Let me feel it…

Hunt closed his eyes. Gabriel nodded to himself. It was the right time. He pressed his finger to his lips, glancing at the ladies. They understood his intention without words. Lila raised her eyebrows, going back down to hunt. Magda laughed, her hand playing in his trousers. Gabriel moved up Hunt's side, opposite Magda, leaning on his elbow, covered Maniac's eyes with his free hand – just in case – and, holding back the narcotic chuckle, covered Hunt's lips with his own.

He felt William's eyelashes tickle his hand – the prostitutes were not supposed to kiss on the lips – but Gabriel just laughed, making the kiss deeper.

- Come, Hunty, - he whispered, breaking off of him for a second, - you know you like it…

Magda pulled Hunt's trousers off and Gabriel pushed Maniac's large frame onto her – and she accepted him with a chuckle. Lila jumped onto Rossetti and attacked his waistcoat, almost ripping the buttons off of it, pressed him to the floor, throwing all his clothes off…

- Wait… - Rossetti whispered in between wet hot kisses upon her neck, running his fingers through her hair passionately. – What about Hunt? I want us to do this all together, you hear me? All four…

- We are doing this all four…

- No… together…

They rolled up to where Magda was pressing Hunt against the wall.

- Cover his eyes, - Rossetti commanded with laughter, breaking from Lila. – Let's play a game: Maniac will be guessing the kisser! How do you like this, ladies?

The ladies chuckled. By now, and by profession, they liked anything he would suggest. Gabriel crawled up to Hunt and slid his hand down, from his jugular recess and to his chest, abdomen – and lower…

- Hold that boy for a little while, Hunty, - he murmured, before covering Hunt's mouth with a deep wet kiss…

Hunt moaned – that was sweet, - and pressed his back into a wall in a last attempt to withdraw, but Gabriel's soft wet lips insisted, and his tongue was playful, and promised joy – only just for that night, but what did it matter? – and Hunt gave up, raising his eyebrows in a painful humility, but not opening his eyes. Everything spun around him in a mix of reality and hallucinations, and his conscience and consciousness were long lost in the web that Rossetti had been spinning for weeks now, in that mix of alcohol, tobacco, hashish – and bodies, and the smoke, smoke that covered everything and hid it from view, making lies and truth indiscernible, but out of that smoke went lust, and became his world. The four bodies dressed in smoke and night and perspiration were sliding against each other, becoming one, interlacing, intertwining, moaning and breathing in sinful pleasure, the arms, the playful fingers, the tongues, the hair, the genitals, the breasts, the legs – they were all one, rolling into one tangle of animal instincts and wishes, and pleasures, and they were the beginning and end of everything that existed that night – the light and dark curls, the strong and the slender bodies, not two men and two women any more – but four pristine creatures who didn't know what shame was, or what moral was, who didn't care. In the smoke they lost themselves and each other, not even knowing whom they were kissing any more, whom they were entering and whom they were accepting, they laughed and moaned and felt and fell, fell, fell…

* * *

The first grey light knocked at Hunt's eyelids painfully and he frowned, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. The light didn't bother him any more, but he was uncomfortable, somehow unusually uncomfortable in his entire body. Hunt groaned and reached under himself with his free arm to understand what was wrong.

His eyes flew wide open as he realized he was lying naked on the bare floor and the thing that hurt so under his back was someone else's hand. He sat up sharply – and almost cried out with the pain. Something seemed to be ripping his brain out of his poor skull. The fuzzy light shone in front of his eyes, he felt nauseous and had to lean back onto his arm for support. His whole body ached and he was still a little dizzy. He looked around, focusing despite the pain.

Upon what he saw he just opened his mouth helplessly. Gabriel, naked as well, was spread on the stained floor, sleeping peacefully. The pillows were tossed all around, together with the burnt candles, s'basa and spilled hashish. Hunt ran his fingers through his hair – and grabbed furiously, as if he wanted to leave himself bald. Despair overwhelmed him. He must have done something terrible yesterday, something ugly and dirty. He didn't even remember how he had got here, where he found himself. What did he even remember? He recalled walking down the street, leaning onto Rossetti for support, and even that effort gave him the overwhelming pain. For a moment he was tempted to just fall back and doze off, but the newly-awaken conscience bit him painfully. He had to find out, he had to know his sin.

He hurried up to his knees and crawled towards Rossetti. He grasped the man's shoulders and shook him furiously.

- Gabriel! _Gabriel_!

Gabriel wrinkled his nose and turned away.

- Gabriel!

The desperate cry made Gabriel open his eyes finally – before shutting them tight again.

- A-ah, Hunt! O-o-oh…

- Gabriel, listen to me! Gabriel, what happened yesterday? Where are we? What's going on? Answer me, Rossetti! What happened? What was there? Rossetti! Wake UP!

He slapped Rossetti's cheeks out of despair, because Gabriel just frowned and closed his eyes, ready to doze off again. Feeling the slaps, he sniffed and looked at Hunt – his eyes were quite misty.

- What do you want, Hunt? After such a good night as this was one needs a good sleep…

- Good? Gabriel, _what happened_ at night?

Rossetti examined Hunt's face: his expression was full of the most desperate fear, his eyes were opened so wide it made Gabriel a little afraid that they would fall right out of the sockets.

- So what – you don't remember _anything_?

- No, - Hunt managed, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

- Nothing at all?

- No, - Hunt rustled.

- You don't even remember the Gardens? – Gabriel sat up, wincing a little.

Hunt pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes.

- I remember when we were going through the street…

- And to Madame O's House of Sin, where you are now, - Gabriel announced and stretched himself. – Maniac, I understand you were dead drunk yesterday, but I thought you would remember at least _where _you are!

Hunt shook his head, and his stare upon Gabriel told him that Hunt wasn't about to joke around. Gabriel smirked – anyway, he remembered the night all too well.

- Well, we came here – you will have a chance to observe when we will be leaving, maybe you will have some sort of a déjà vu… anyway, we're here – in Madame O's institution.

- This is clear, - Hunt was fidgeting with his fingers nervously. - Tell me another thing, Gabriel, tell me: what have we done?!

Gabriel grinned.

- Nothing criminal… relatively. We took two girls with us. One of them was ginger… hair like molten lava… called Magda, I think. Or Lila. But I'm not sure I didn't cry out 'Fanny' or 'Marge'… - he grinned. – The other one dark-haired, curly… This one coaxed me like I don't know what! We smoked hashish over here in four, and then fucked. In four.

Hunt bit his lower lip, knitting his eyebrows even harder.

- And me, Gabriel! Who was I having intercourse with?

Gabriel laughed in his face.

- Oh Maniac! Are you sure you want to know what you were doing?

- Tell me, - Hunt almost whispered, desperately, grabbing Gabriel's shoulders. – I'm begging you, tell me! Tell me everything that happened!

- Easy, easy, - Gabriel pushed Hunt away. – I will tell you. I adore telling people how I and they fuck. First of all we all smoked incredible amounts of hashish, of course. I hope you don't mind if I tell you honestly – you smoked the most. That evening you actually took the most of everything: every kind of alcohol the pub had, every possible cigar, and then this. But it's all right, I suppose, as any way you wanted a distraction, - he shrugged and looked away with a self-confident smirk. – Those girls were coaxing us – Magda (let's assume the ginger was Magda) seemed to prefer you and Lila me. But then as we lost all our sanity and forgot all the rules and moral, they both crawled to you… and then we played a game – you were guessing who was kissing you… and you were never correct, - Rossetti smiled adorably. – And then… then, Maniac, you fucked every one in the room. You caught Magda, she was the closest to you. You fucked me, thank goodness the girls had something to make it… softer for me, you know. I have to admit you were good – a great kisser, and all… then you took Lila, while Magda was helping me relax after this… passionate intercourse, - he made a suggestive face. – I wondered where you had got so much strength, and so suddenly! We were doing it all together, in all possible poses, and _you _were the center of it all, my righteous friend.

He looked at Hunt, finally focusing on him, not savouring the night's events, in expectation of a reaction. William was pale.

- So, I… I…

- Launched every one in the room, yes, basically, - Gabriel smiled widely.

Hunt ran his fingers through his hair. Utter despair and fear were written on his face.

- _What have I done_! – he exclaimed, tearing his hair, dropped his head onto his hands and his entire large frame shook in a wave of uncontrollable sobs.

Gabriel frowned. Whatever reaction he expected, it was not this. He moved closer to Hunt, looking at him in concern and wonder.

- There, come, come, Maniac… - he called soothingly, putting his hand on Hunt's shoulder. – This was just once, after all?! – he tired to laugh it off. – Come, let's both consider it a failed try and never remember it!

- I am a bugger, - William managed quietly, not raising his head. – I am a sinner, I fell from God's grace! And you, _you, _Rossetti! – he raised his wet face, and his red eyes looked at Gabriel with pained, bitter reproach. – Why didn't you stop me?!

- I'm in a wrong size, - Rossetti smiled softly, patting William's trembling arm. – Besides, I was almost as high as you. Come, Hunt. We can both forget about it. After all, you were not that bad!

- Disgrace! – Hunt roared, dropping his head again, sobbing bitterly. – I'm lost, Rossetti, lost!

Gabriel looked down. He felt bad himself now.

- Hunt…

He felt the urge to do something, but couldn't think of anything appropriate. He leaned in and drew Hunt closer, embracing him.

- Here…

- _Don't touch me_!

Hunt roared and broke away.

- You, _you _are a serpent, come off of me!

- William, are you really mad? – Rossetti outstretched his arms to him with a bitter smile. – I am your _friend_, Gabriel! And I did the same thing as you yesterday, and I am the same kind of a bugger as you, except I am not, because it was once and we were under hashish, thus you aren't as well.

Hunt covered his face with his hands and curled up, sobbing out loud, like a little child. Gabriel crawled up to him and embraced him softly.

- Come, come, - he said tenderly. – I won't abandon you, Maniac. I will not tell any body. I promise, this will stay here. You will forget it ever was real. If any one else was here with you, they wouldn't keep silent. But I will, Maniac. I am your friend. Always am, always will be.

He patted Hunt's back and listened. William responded with nothing but muffled sobs. But he threw his arm around Rossetti and buried his nose into his shoulder. This was a good sign. Rossetti pressed Hunt to himself, this large man, this strong man, of whom even he was always afraid – now a naked man, a weak and vulnerable crying man. And he felt how great his own, Gabriel's, power over him was. And this scared him a little.

- And you are mine, - he went on in a few moments. – You are my friend, William. Whatever there is. I will always stand up for you. You are the dearest to me, I swear to God.

- Unforgivable, - Hunt sobbed into his shoulder. – You serpent, what have you done to me?

- Forgivable, - Gabriel whispered, drawing him in and inching his lips closer to William's ear. – Forgivable, because your virtue is so much greater than your sin…

- What virtue? – Hunt exhaled. – What virtue are you talking about, Gabriel? I am a miserable drunkard, a narcomaniac, I don't even work any more, Fred was right! And now I'm nothing but a bugger, and you say it's forgivable?!

He grasped at Rossetti as a drowning man at a straw and his tears burned Gabriel's skin, dropping down to his chest.

- You are my best, most faithful friend of all, - he whispered into Hunt's ear, caressing his curls. – _You _are. Fred – what Fred? Fred is nothing. Just a brown suit. A man in the corner. Johnny only cares for himself – I will never forget how Sid was dying, and he was talking of nothing but his masterpiece… and you… you are loyal. I know that everything you said about the brotherhood doesn't matter. Fred just talked you into it, after all – he can talk well, however humble he is trying to show off. I know you will never desert me, that you will always be there. Or am I wrong, Maniac? Tell me, I know I am right. You will never, never desert me.

- No, no, never, - Hunt sobbed into his shoulder, running his fingers through Gabriel's thick dark hair, pressing him closer.

- I will never desert you either, - Rossetti said quietly. – I do you as you do me. I will be there. Always remember, Maniac: your virtue. You always keep it great, whatever happens. I believe in you, and I will be there. And I will be silent. I can promise you this.

- Thank you… - Hunt managed in a broken voice. – Thank you, Gabriel…

- I'm your friend, - Rossetti said with a little smile. – You will be alright. Come, calm down, my dear Maniac. We have to go home. I think you must feel bad after the night, and I don't feel too good, either. Come?

He leaned back a little and peered into Hunt's face. William quickly wiped the tears off his cheeks and rubbed his eyes.

- Y – yes, - he managed. – We should, we should go, Gabriel.

- Calm down, - Gabriel said soothingly. – My dear William, don't cry any more.

He patted William's cheek with his one hand and his hair with the other, looking into his eyes. William looked back at him, and his red eyes were full of unimaginable fear and ennui. Rossetti embraced his neck and pressed his forehead to Hunt's.

- Fear not, - he said quietly. – I'm here.

And he softly moved the tip of his nose to Hunt's cheek, so their lips almost touched. William tensed, but Rossetti tightened his grip on his shoulder.

- I'm here… - he repeated in a whisper. – I know you won't let me fall. And I will help you back up. I promise.

Their lips brushed together and he felt Hunt's broken breath as he almost wanted that kiss, but feared – and moved to the side, kissing his cheek almost imperceptibly and letting him go.

- Here, - he said with a little smile. – Let us get dressed and get out of here.

Hunt nodded quickly. His eyes were empty. Gabriel tapped his shoulder and stood up himself.

* * *

They passed the empty hallway in silence. In the light of day Madame O's institution looked like any cheap brothel in London. All its charming chic was gone with the golden light. The wallpapers were all stained and torn, the doors to some of the rooms were thrown open, revealing dirty walls and floors and messed beds, cigarette stubs and hookahs, spilled substances of different kind and forgotten ties and handkerchiefs of the respected gentlemen.

The hall was flooded with the bright grey light making the room looking a thousand times poorer. The burnt candles and empty lamps were all taken away, letting the shabby floor show. The big spiders in the corners were glaring at the lonely guests who were a little too late to leave. Only two ladies were standing at the door – but those were different ladies, and they had their full-length dresses on. When Hunt and Rossetti came up to the door, they searched them quickly and habitually. One of them took the familiar shabby notebook out of her stays and frowned, moving her lips: reading was clearly hard for her. Finally she looked up, examined them and called:

- Lila!

Lila, wrapped in a bedsheet, showed up at some door in the far corner of the hall, narrowing her eyes at the bright light.

- Your clients are leaving, - the woman with the notebook said, looking at Lila sympathetically. – What's with the price?

Lila puffed, tucked up her sheet and came up to Hunt and Rossetti. She named the price and Hunt, not daring to look up at her, paid her almost twice more, mumbling that she could leave the rest. Lila raised her eyebrows, but said nothing, just shrugged and looked at Hunt as he dragged Rossetti with him out.

The three women watched the two men. The tears in the big one's eyes could not escape their attention.

- What's wrong? – the one with the notebook asked, adjusting her notebook in her stays again. – Looks like the big one's crying…

- I don't know, - the other one shrugged. – Lila, are they of the type that confess and cry into your neck?

- Not at all, - Lila pulled a face. – If you only saw him yesterday… he took every one, even that black one.

The two ladies at the door raised their eyebrows, the one with the notebook burst with chuckles. Lila smirked.

- Signor Mad and Mister Maniac… good names, aren't they?

The lady without the notebook nodded, smiling knowingly.

- Funny clients you have… why it's always you and Magda that get all the interesting ones?

Lila laughed.

- Only us?! Wasn't that you who got that street artist just on the day before yesterday?

She sniffed.

- He was boring… and tiny.

All three laughed.

- I'm sleepy, - Lila dropped finally, yawning. – And rich. I can afford a good sleep. This night was exhausting.

- Yeah, you should have a rest, - the woman without a notebook smiled. – Have a nice sleep, dear.

- Thanks, Darla… - Lila yawned again and headed towards the door she had appeared from.

* * *

Rossetti let Hunt go in first and waited a few moments before coming inside the house. But he didn't even have to open the door for himself. It flew open and Johnny, concern written all over his face, appeared in the doorway.

- Gabriel!

Gabriel smiled widely at him.

- Johnny! Good morning.

- Good – it's easy for you to say, - Johnny remarked quite resentfully. – Oh, Gabriel! Go in, quicker!

Gabriel went inside and Johnny closed the door after him.

- What's wrong with William? – he asked quietly, following Gabriel to the dining room, moving closer to him, peering into his face. – Gabriel, what's wrong with him? He has crying eyes, and he didn't say anything to me as he entered! Gabriel, what happened to him? Was everything alright tonight? Did you just spend your time somewhere in the brothel, as we decided? Gabriel! At least you answer me!

He stepped in Gabriel's way, not letting him go further, with an expression of more despair now than concern. Rossetti stopped and looked at Johnny carefully.

- Listen, Johnny boy, - he said softly, - it is a long talk. I could tell you all there is to know after breakfast, maybe…

- But we planned to go for a walk around the town with Fred, I thought I would maybe find a female model for me while he still feels bad…

Gabriel gave Johnny the most charming smile.

- You could tell Fred that you would rather relax today. Besides, he once found us a model we almost fought over, remember? You could send him to look for another one.

John looked down.

- Can it be polite?..

- Why not? – Gabriel put his arm around Johnny's shoulders. – Fred is your good friend, isn't he? He will understand.

Johnny smiled a little.

- I believe so…

- Are we late for breakfast?

- We were just about to begin without you, - Johnny gave him a wide smile. – You came just in time. Come, come.

And they went into the dining room, where the whole company had gathered around the table.

* * *

Hunt didn't show up for breakfast. Johnny was really concerned about him and tried a few times to run right out of the table and to his bedroom, but Rossetti stopped him. John cast him glances and wondered – he didn't seem concerned about Hunt at all. But he calmed himself down with the thought that Gabriel knew something he would tell him, something important, so he brushed it away, though it had already managed to excite him and spoil his appetite.

Fred touched his shoulder.

- Johnny?

John glanced at him.

- Ah… yes?

- Is everything right? You haven't eaten anything…

John smiled at him softly.

- Oh, I'm fine…

- Eat, we don't know how long our walk will be.

Johnny looked down. He felt a little uncomfortable cancelling the walk so unexpectedly, but he encouraged himself with the thought of the importance of Gabriel's news.

- Would you mind going without me?

Fred tilted his head.

- Wait, why?

John shrugged.

- Well, I figured I would rather stay home today… I hope you aren't angry?

- No, not at all… - Fred looked down at his plate. – It's just a little unexpected… but let it be however you wish.

He looked up and smiled, and John couldn't help but smile back. The calm softness in Fred's kind grey eyes assured him it was all right.

- Who will you stay with, then? – Fred asked casually, peering at John as he took another sip of tea.

- Well, - John shrugged. – I will probably work a little… I need a lot of practice.

Fred nodded.

- Yes, that's good. Are you sure you don't need a model with a broken nose?

- Get well, - John said sincerely. – I need you, but without the plasters. I still worry about you. Now rejoice with the thought you _are _a knight.

Fred smirked and said nothing. John looked down at his hands. He felt bad for not telling Fred all the truth, but something told him this was the right choice. One by one, everybody left the table. Effie and Ellie, John knew, were about to go to the park with all the children for almost entire day. Fred rose, giving John a little smile, which warmed his heart and cheeks, and went for a walk alone – John heard the door click as he left. The noisy company of children with two women left shortly afterwards, and finally the silence filled the house. John was left alone with Gabriel.

* * *

Rossetti stood up, wiping his fingers on the serviette.

- Johnny?

John almost jumped up with a little smile, trying to hide his excitement.

- Your maidservant will come in a few minutes, I suppose… let's go somewhere where we could be alone.

- Let's go to my studio, - John suggested readily. – People rarely bother me there, you know.

- Of course, - Rossetti threw him a grin and followed him up the stairs.

* * *

They settled on the chairs beside the window. Gabriel was quiet, watching the street, so John decided to start the conversation himself:

- So… how is William? – he asked hesitantly. – What's wrong with him?

Gabriel smiled a little,

- Well, Johnny, you know how it always happens the morning after…

- But it cannot be so simple, - John leaned forward. – Gabriel, he was crying, I noticed! You are so calm, you must know something! Tell me, maybe he needs help?

- He doesn't need any help but from himself, - Gabriel said thoughtfully. – You know, Johnny boy, William never really got over Annie Miller leaving him… so, yesterday, as every day before that, he was trying to forget her.

- He is still so worried… - Johnny's eyes sparkled. – Poor Maniac!

- Yes, poor man, - Gabriel nodded, looking out of the window absently. – So, you know, I thought he finally needed a better distraction. And, you know, brought him to a brothel. Because you know how Maniac likes fallen women!

Johnny looked away. The remark seemed a little inappropriate, he was concerned. But Gabriel didn't smirk for long and soon adopted the same thoughtful tone of voice:

- So, we took the girls, Hunt smoked too much hashish and launched them both. And today he woke up and shouted: 'Disgrace!' and cried, and I hardly managed to calm him down…

Johnny licked his lips. He never really made up his mind on prostitutes, because, after all, he himself never used their service for his pleasure – or, to be honest, anyhow, - but for his innocent mind it felt quite inappropriate. He thought a little and tried:

- Well, it is not quite right, I suppose… but… William knew where he was going and what for! Is it really worth his tears, if he was just looking for a distraction?..

- This is what I told him, - Gabriel shrugged. – Glad you understand, Johnny. But William is convinced he is a sinner unable to be forgiven.

John frowned.

- This is definitely wrong! How much of a sin is it, really? If he sincerely regrets it, anything can be forgiven! I will tell him that!

He wanted to stand up, but Gabriel reached out and put his hand on his knee.

- Don't remind him, Johnny, - he said quickly. – Really, it is better to leave him alone – maybe even to let him weep a little. He will feel better.

- Do you think so? – Johnny hesitated.

- Yes, - Gabriel nodded. – Besides, I think there is a conversation we should have better sooner than later.

- What conversation? – John knitted his eyebrows.

Gabriel licked his lips and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

- It is intimate, - he said quietly. – And it touches you personally, Johnny.

John swallowed involuntarily. Intimate conversations always made him weak in the knees.

- Wh – what?

- Actually, I was about to ask you about Fred, - Gabriel said, looking at John piercingly.

John swallowed again, and straightened, moving away from Gabriel.

- What's with Fred? – he asked, his voice trembling a little. His hands got suddenly clammy, and his underarms and back wet.

- Oh, good for us all if there's nothing wrong with him, - Gabriel smiled charmingly. – But you, Johnny. You and Fred. Do you still not like to tell me anything on the matter?

John pressed into the chair instinctively, rubbing the palm of his one hand with the thumb of the other.

- No, - he said, trying to sound confident, but Gabriel's piercing stare disarmed him and he couldn't collect himself. Under such direct questions he was naked and helpless.

Gabriel smiled again, as if Johnny was a stubborn child.

- Come, - he insisted. – Do you think I'm blind? For only blind wouldn't notice how you stare at Fred when he isn't looking. How you can't draw your eyes off of him.

- I'm an artist, Fred is my model, I _have _to watch him, - John tried to defend himself, but he couldn't control the tremble in his voice. Gabriel smiled and shook his head.

- John, I'm much more experienced in the pursuit of love than you, let's admit to it. Now tell me: what do you have towards Fred?

- Gabriel, - John stood up for confidence and tried once again to defend himself: - If you think that I can have feelings this despicable, as you suspect, if you are trying to accuse me of sodomy, without any proof whatsoever, – what good of a friend are you?!

He already regretted staying home. Gabriel didn't tell him anything quite so important, and the thought he could be walking down the streets beside Fred gave him an incredible wish to be able to turn back time. Gabriel straightened.

- I haven't yet accused you of any thing, - he said, tilting his head. – _You _don't accuse me of such, Johnny. I'm but asking you.

- What's in this to you?!

Gabriel examined Johnny head to toe.

- I could be of some help, - he said simply. – As your more experienced friend, I could give you some advice on your feelings. But first I need to know how bad the case is. I need you to tell me, Johnny.

John, who was already about to withdraw from the studio, stopped on his way.

- …advice? – he asked quietly. – Of what help can you possibly be, Gabriel? I'm not ill, I'm feeling fine. I can assure you I have no intentions of…

- This I understand, - Gabriel leaned back in his chair. – Of course, such a little modest bird as you! And such a prophet as Fred! You're worth each other, I must say. But don't you think that such feelings as you might have, unfamiliar to many, need to be sorted out? Johnny, I believe that what you feel for Fred is still more than just friendship.

John turned to him and opened his mouth, ready to say something – but closed it again and looked down.

- Come, tell me, - Gabriel reassured. – You can rely on me, I shall keep it in secret. Whatever you say here – stays here. Tell me, Johnny.

John swallowed hard again, collecting himself. He was trying hard to find the words, but they all seemed to run away through his fingers.

- I… I don't know, - he managed finally. – I just… look at him and… I want to draw him all the time, I want to draw him and paint him – and only him, because he is so different and… wonderful…

Gabriel tiled his head.

- Yes, but what's so special about him for you to wish so to picture him?

John was biting his lips, fidgeting with his fingers, like a scared child confessing before being punished. Rossetti was watching him with professional emotionlessness.

- I… I don't know how to describe it, - he said quietly, in a trembling voice. – It's… strange. I know he has kind eyes and a beautiful face, and when the sun shines upon him he is gorgeous, and when he smiles, it's a miracle and a gift, and that he's so sincere and kind, and loving, and modest, but… Gabriel, there's something more to it! – he looked up at his friend and his big blue eyes sparkled. – Gabriel, that's so strange, I can not explain that! There's more to it than just admiration! I appreciate Fred and I know how wonderful of a man he is, but… there's something… big and warm… inside of me, that covers this all! I just want to look at him, to see him, to know he's there, to… not even to speak to him, to just _be _near him. Gabriel, what is it? What to do with it? Do I _have _to do something with it? It's so wonderful, it can not be harmful!

Gabriel stretched himself and gazed at Johnny.

- My dear Johnny, pleasures can be harmful as well, and more, what's pleasant, tends to be more harmful.

John looked at him helplessly.

- But how, Gabriel?

Rossetti narrowed his eyes.

- You know that sodomy is a sin and a crime, don't you, Johnny?

John stepped back.

- But how?.. Gabriel, I would never… never even think…

- It's for now, you humble bird, - Gabriel raised his eyebrows a little. – You do realise that you are in love with Fred now, don't you, Johnny boy?

- In love? Nonsense! – Johnny pulled a face, trying to seem courageous. – I know how being in love feels. I know how it is to love, Gabriel, because I have a beloved wife, if you didn't notice. I know how it is to want a lady, and I know the ways of love. I don't know why you fancy yourself more experienced and knowing than me just because you've had more women. Aren't the feelings all the same?

He almost felt himself saved. He raised his chin and smiled and nodded to himself. He was confident. Gabriel laughed.

- I will leave this for you to judge. Have you ever had the urge to draw your dear wife as much as you now wish Fred?

Johnny shrugged.

- No. But I was painting her when we fell in love and I must say I enjoyed it much.

- But you never admired her as the sunshine poured on herself, and you never just wanted to _be_ beside her…

John shook his head.

- What does it matter? Do you doubt that I love her? I admired her in different ways, this is only natural!

- But still never those ways.

John knitted his eyebrows.

- Yet you wish them both only happiness, - Gabriel turned on his chair and put his cheek onto the back of it. – You would give anything for their smiles. The selfless wish for the others to be happy _is _love, isn't it?

John raised his chin.

- I love Fred because he is my friend, and I love Effie because she is my wife! That is all I can say in explanation.

- But maybe you are just a little bit confused? – Gabriel looked up thoughtfully. – I watched you and I noticed that it seems that you love them in quite a strange manner. You admire your friend as a lady love, and you appreciate your wife as a dear friend.

- Gabriel! You are confusing me so much! – John started pacing up and down the room. – I love them as I love them, I love them both, but differently, what's so strange here?

He stopped in front of Rossetti, slapping his own hips helplessly.

- I told you, - Gabriel repeated calmly. – Your wife is just your friend – after all, this is quite common amongst the people of our society. And you are in love with your friend, which is, I must say, not that common and not that innocent. Johnny, let me warn you: Fred seems to share your feelings, and when they are mutual, it's twice dangerous! Love doesn't stay just in paintings and verses for long. It goes physical, who knows better than you, my married friend? However scared you were, the desire called you…

- Stop it, Gabriel! – Johnny was on the verge of tears.

- Listen closely, Johnny, - Rossetti leaned forward, staring at Johnny. – You _are _in love with Fred, believe my experience. And besides, talking of experience, not only women offer their service to men, - he threw back his hair. – Perhaps you could find yourself a boy and try it – and find out whether you prefer it physical or platonic, if at all, and if physical, whether you'd rather be on top or under Fred…

- Gabriel!

Johnny pressed his fists to his lips, trembling, starting pacing again. Gabriel scratched the bristle on his cheek.

- Only just be careful not to get caught. I knew one fellow, he preferred boys… now he is spending time in the convict prison, I believe he can't be quite happy there… but was a promising young gentleman!

John stopped in front of him.

- But what do I do, Gabriel?! Can I possibly not end up in prison? What do I do, Gabriel? Help me!

He clasped his hands, begging. Gabriel looked at him seriously.

- This is what I was offering, - he said. – To help. There are, of course, the chances that you can avoid the prison following your inclinations, but, mind you, I saw a few buggers in my life. As they get older, they become more and more lustful. This is a miserable and disgusting sight. I worry about you, Johnny.

- What should I do? – Johnny repeated, quietly, fighting back tears with great effort. – I don't want to become so despicable, I don't want to fall so low, I don't want to go to prison! Tell me, Gabriel!

Rossetti rubbed the bridge of his nose thoughtfully.

- Well, I think I know one thing that will definitely deprive you of any further inclinations.

Johnny almost jumped onto him.

- What is that, Gabriel?

Gabriel shook his head.

- I'm not sure I will be able to make it, now, Johnny, and I don't want to give you empty hopes. Give me some time

John nodded desperately.

- Yes, yes! However much it takes! But please, please hurry, Gabriel!

- And meanwhile… - Gabriel chewed is lower lip thoughtfully, deciding. – Meanwhile, Johnny, keep the distance from Fred. Promise me this, please. It is for your own safety. I have a suspicion that Fred might be sweet on you, too, and in this case he may as well guide you a completely wrong way… you don't want to become an old bugger, wallowing in his own fat and lust, do you, Johnny?

John's lips trembled. Gabriel stood up.

- Well, I will take my time now. I will present you a solution to your problem as soon as I can. And you remember my words and follow the good advice. Have fun, Johnny boy. Good luck.

And he left the studio in no hurry. Johnny watched his back, unmoving, until the door closed after him. At that sound he suddenly shivered with his entire body and began pacing again, biting his lips until little red drops of blood appeared. How, how could that be that this little pleasant warmth, that wonderful feeling could lead him to a convict prison? The only thought of touching a man filled him now with utter disgust – for himself.

- No, no, it can't be so, - he whispered, tears of despair running down his cheeks. – I can not fall that low! I must not!

And, shaking with fear, he hurried to the window, to open it and get a breath of fresh air, but stumbled over something on the floor, fell – and stayed down, sobbing loudly, like an abandoned child.

* * *

The air was cool and fresh. People around were running past, talking lively – quietly or loudly. The smells filled the street. Fred wasn't walking for long when he started getting an odd feeling. He couldn't explain it at first, it was that irritating feeling of something forgotten, he was familiar with it, it made him slow down his pace and stop looking around. Fred frowned. He had forgotten something, he was sure.

Or not forgotten, the realization came. He just lacked someone by his side – he even knew whom he lacked. He left Johnny home, and he had become so used to having him around all the time it felt bad without him now. What's more, he remembered Effie's request and wondered. He felt uneasy.

He was good at chaining himself down for the others, and he didn't fail Effie this time, either. He did spend a lot of time with Johnny, engaging him in different pastimes, behaving perfectly friendly and unobtrusively, and himself felt good, though it was quite difficult to try and avoid eye contact longer than just a second all the time.

The feeling he got when he saw Johnny, changed given time. Stored inside, hidden away, like good rum, it got a trace of bitterness, it became rich, strange and nagging – but it still warmed his insides whenever he was beside Johnny. He found the consolation in it being more poetic now, and suffered quietly. He knew already that that feeling was shameful, he knew already that it was better for everybody if it never went out to let show anyhow. He knew also that it would grow bitterer and bitterer, like his feelings for Lizzie, until it rots – or maybe rots and eats _him_. He wasn't yet sure. He was silent, he knew he couldn't let anybody down – first of all Johnny. He couldn't get Johnny, this beautiful man, involved in his disgraceful feelings. Johnny had done him too much good. He cared for Fred, after all, and for this Fred was thankful – and he could express his gratitude only so, secretly, protecting Johnny from _himself_. And he chained himself for the good – for a thousandth time.

He was walking slower and slower until he stopped in the middle of the street. A heavy feeling was pressing on him. What was it? Now that he determined it was the lack of Johnny that bothered him so, it turned out that there was more to it – much more, but he could not tell what it was. He stopped and looked around. He was alone in the street, not quite far from home, he could see a market place, a cab clicked by…

Fred frowned, then turned and went slowly back, to the direction of home, thinking about this odd worry. It seemed to be strangely about Johnny, though what could happen to him in his own house, after all? Fred licked his lips. Johnny…

Johnny!

He left John home when there was nobody there _but Rossetti_! Rossetti, from whom he had promised Effie and himself to guard Johnny! Rossetti, who once led him off the way, Rossetti, for whom it was so easy to influence and control people, Rossetti, Dante Gabriel Rossetti! Fred gasped and ran headlong forward, towards the house. Something was wrong, he sensed it now. Something, something bad could happen to Johnny! He left him alone with Rossetti – it was like leaving a child to play with fire. The fire was magnetic and fascinating, but it hurt, oh, how badly it could hurt!

At the door Fred bumped into Gabriel. He didn't even bother saying 'sorry', he just flew into the house – and only then understood that it was better to stop Gabriel and talk to him well. He rushed and threw the door open again – but Gabriel was already out of sight somewhere. Fred slammed the door behind his back and ran to the living room.

It was empty, as well as the dining room. He almost knocked the maid off her feet, and inquired whether John had left and found out he was home. But he was getting calmer, after all. His pace slowed down, and he was angry at himself for such a hurry and worry. After all, John was a grown-up man, and he could decide for himself. He could simply be engaged in the studio, and there he shouldn't be bothered… but, following some strange instinct, Fred went upstairs. First of all, he checked John's bedroom. It was quiet and empty and Fred finally smiled at his own foolishness. Where else could an artist be found? And he headed slowly towards the studio to check on Johnny. He loved watching him secretly in the pursuit of art.

Beside the studio he stopped and listened. Some strange, broken noise was heard from behind the door. Fred frowned. He knocked and waited, but nobody answered, only the sound became louder, resembling more and more of sobs. A wave of agitation rose from the bottom of Fred's heart. He pushed the door – it didn't open. Now he was sure that he heard the sounds of crying from behind it. He pushed it again, fiercely – and it gave way. Fred flew into the studio, managing only to gasp at the sight.

Johnny was lying writhed on the floor, shaking, sobbing, alone and miserable. His light hair fell, covering his face.

* * *

Fred stood in shock for barely a second. He rushed to John.

- Johnny! Johnny!

Johnny curled up tight on the floor, covering his face with his arm. Fred caught his hand and put it off, brushed away the fair locks in the tenderness of despair.

- Johnny!..

John sobbed.

- Go away! – he exclaimed. – Go!

- No, - Fred whispered, embracing and rousing him, drawing him close. – No, I won't! I won't again…

- Go, - Johnny managed, pushing him away – but all his desperate force drowned in pained sobs.

Fred drew him close to his chest, softly patting his shoulders, his back, his hair, struggling to uncurl him, to open him, searching for a visible cause of such tears. John protested weakly, but the troubled soul longed for release, for comfort.

- Johnny… - Fred took his face in his both hands, trying to find his eyes, to catch his look – for the first time in months, if not years. – Johnny, look at me! It's all right, Johnny, it's fine!

He didn't realise he was almost crying himself – with despair and helplessness. John looked up at him finally – and, seeing the tears in Fred's own eyes, gasped and threw his arms around his neck.

- No!

Fred pressed him to his chest, adjusting him comfortably in his own warmth, patting his hair, feeling him with his whole body. It wasn't the first time he saw Johnny crying – after all, this little man was always so sensitive! – but it was the very first time he saw him in such despair. Johnny had never lost the presence of mind and always changed his moods rapidly – in the end, he was always there smiling or laughing. And now he was weeping into Fred's shoulder, clinging to him for the dear life, and, through all the pain Johnny's tears brought him, Fred wondered what was wrong. Here to know what to do he had first to find out who was to blame. He bit his lower lip, trying to be calm. Johnny needed someone to lean on, someone strong enough, someone calm.

- No, don't… cry! Don't… cry because… of me! – John managed between the broken gasps. – You… don't understand! It's… our death!..

- No, no, there isn't any death, any threat, anything, - Fred whispered desperately, barely understanding what he himself was saying. – Nothing, Johnny, I am here. What, what happened? Who? I… I will do anything!

But Johnny just buried his nose in the warm fabric of his jacket. Fred didn't need the explanation. He knew only one being in the world that could hurt so badly and then go away so calmly. The fury rose from the bottom of his chest.

- It will be fine, Johnny. You hear me? – he pressed him even closer, almost touching his ear with his lips. – I will make it fine. For you, for me, for us all. You hear me? I promise.

John just pushed Fred's head softly to his shoulder and patted his hair.

- It's death, Fred, - he managed quietly. – It's disgrace… and falling… but I don't want to face it alone…

- Don' say that. I'm here, - Fred said softly. – I'll make it fine. I promise. I _swear_.

He held Johnny close in his arms, as his sobs slowly got quieter, just keeping him in a warmth of his embrace, giving himself entirely, and whispering desperately, reassuring – whom, John or himself? – that it would be all right, that he would make it fine…


	4. Episode 4

Gabriel closed his room form the inside and finally felt safe. He leaned his back onto the door and sighed with relief. He was alone. He was in his shell, in his hole – home. Here, only here, in this very room, he didn't have to pretend, to lie – to the others and to himself, – to play roles… to be a serpent, a fake friend. Here he was himself. Here he was safe.

He threw off his waistcoat and his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He came up to the window and leaned onto the sill, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. His room at this time of day was not on the sunny side, and he liked it that way.

The many birds in their cages – little and huge – had waken up and demanded his attention with loud chirping of all kinds, the little fluffy creatures – who that was, wasn't quite possible to distinguish by the amount of soft fur – started fidgeting towards him. They knew him. They were his friends – his faithful friends.

He had a menagerie of animals – and, from time to time, to the righteous anger of both Millais parents, he had a menagerie of humans right here, in this big clear room. Fanny was very often here, she almost lived with Rossetti, and Johnny and Effie frowned at her, keeping themselves and the children from such a company; and her friends gathered here from time to time – boys and girls from the brothels around the city, the drunkards, there was even a sadomasochist, - but Gabriel, for the sake of staying in the house of the Millaises, tried to keep her from bringing especially huge companies around. After all, he had nowhere else to go…

Overall, he had always been frowned upon in the Millaises' house. As the noisiest one, he was given the corner bedroom, the farthest one from all the others. Effie sometimes came specially to tell him when she was leaving with children, or to ask when he was planning another 'gathering of his friends'. She tried to sound like she cared for him, or indifferently polite, but she was resentful, and sometimes Gabriel didn't even blame her. But he couldn't help himself. Now as he pressed his forehead to the coldness of the glass, he understood bitterly – again – how lonely he really was in the world of people.

A failure. An all-time failure. He, who worked more and with greater passion that Hunt and Millais together – and never got what he _thought_ he deserved – and didn't he, in fact, didn't he?! Rossetti gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, leaning onto the window sill with such tension that it screeched dangerously. He threw his head back and looked at the ceiling, breathing heavily.

He wasn't loved. He painfully felt it. He wasn't any more – he wasted the only one who really loved him, and in the lust and undying joy of the others he lacked that desperation of Lizzie's. Of course, there was the Brotherhood – but it was falling apart.

- What do I do?! – he turned to the wall hidden behind cages of all sorts.

The birds just chirped in return. One parakeet screeched loudly all of a sudden. Gabriel snapped at him and the parakeet scoffed and turned away mocking at Gabriel – or maybe it just seemed to him.

- You sit there, goddamn bird!

Gabriel crouched down, opened one of the lower cages and reached inside it, fishing out a little fluffy ball. It uncurled in his hands, revealing two long ears – it was a little rabbit.

- Li-izzie…

The rabbit was soft and warm to the touch. Gabriel brought her up to his face and kissed her gently on the nose.

- You understand me, my little one… you know me…

He took a folded handkerchief out of his pocket – there turned out to be a couple of lettuce leaves and a carrot wrapped in it. Gabriel adjusted the little creature on his arm, went across the room and settled in his big armchair, putting the rabbit on his knees and softly stroking her.

- Come, must be hungry, sunshine…

The rabbit accepted the food From Gabriel's fingers and ate quickly. Gabriel watched her.

- I'm _not _evil, - he told her quietly in a moment. – You know that I don't mean to hurt anyone, don't you, Lizzie? – he waited for something silently a couple of seconds, then grinned bitterly. – Of course you won't answer, you are merely a rabbit…

He looked up and out of the window thoughtfully.

- Who do I have except for you, Lizzie?..

He didn't even know whom he was addressing any more – whether he was opening his soul to a rabbit or praying to unanswering Beata Beatrix, the canvas with whom he had brought to his bedroom this time. In fact, this question was always on his mind, and he was trying to hide it away, but it came up anyway: 'Who do I have except you?' Who he had, he didn't know. Of no one he was sure.

The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. On the first glance, he had them. But when he looked closer, whom did he have left? Nobody of them was fully with him, and nobody of them he could completely trust, as he did trust them once.

_William Holman Hunt, painter, pugilist._ Maniac, his all-time friend, the one who always tried to right him up, yet who was always there – Hunt was a broken man now, and Rossetti bitterly understood that he himself brought him to that point. But he didn't see fault in his own actions. After all, this was the only way he knew to keep him near, to keep him by. He could easily restore him, should he only wish so. And William wasn't a weak man himself. With his principles he could get himself up from _ashes_, Rossetti thought with a little smile. Another question was if Maniac wished that himself, but this was William's own trouble.

_John Millais. A child prodigy on the verge of puberty. _Johnny, little Johnny, who loved everyone and spared a little love for himself – this sunny man Johnny, their youngest brother, so naïve and yet so smart in his own way… Gabriel lost Johnny to his family a long time ago. A big house, a wife and five children so far required attention and support, he understood that, but how bitter it was to lose a friend like Johnny! Of course, he stayed forever loyal and never changed his soft childlike ways, of no matter his being a father and a husband – but Gabriel was too used to having people all for himself. He was aware of that, but, analyzing his life's circumstances, he had come to the conclusion that he actually had every right to demand attention and care.

After all, his entire life he had been a failure. He was never a successful artist, unlike John or William, easy women were quite doubtful achievements and the more proper damsels were simply afraid of him. He lived by his friends' means – of what he had once accused Fred, as he caught him on something resembling him own circumstances the littlest bit. It was all just out of despair, Gabriel told himself. And agreed with himself wholeheartedly. After all, as Lizzie died, he had only himself to understand himself.

He grinned a little, but sadly. He had lost Johnny twice before: once to fame and success and once – to quiet family life. And now he was losing the leftovers of Johnny's kind attention to Fred, and this irritated him to the point.

Fred. Fred Walters. Gabriel narrowed his eyes. Something in Fred still amused him, and he could even tell what: his dog-like loyalty and wish to be with his artist friends whatever happened to him – or them. Fred was sweet for Johnny, that was clear, and Gabriel didn't like Fred any more as he had once liked him. It was never much, yet now Fred was, first of all, of a menace to the Brotherhood. Hunt, who had been supporting him, was now in Gabriel's hands. But Fred became much more attentive given time, so Rossetti couldn't expect him to be bought so easily. And the fight was for Johnny. When Fred had come, he saw the firmness in their brotherhood – and he just gave in. And now, in the contrary conditions, he had to come back or leave. Gabriel didn't want the only place in the world, where he was loved, destroyed.

Johnny's own feelings didn't bother him much. Johnny would get used to pretty much anything, he didn't know what was best to him and his friends. Gabriel shrugged to himself, stroking the already sleeping rabbit absentmindedly. After all, he didn't hate Fred. As long at Johnny didn't sacrifice his other connections – by which Rossetti obviously meant himself – he was free to do whatever he wished. But not now, Gabriel thought.

After all, throwing off all the air of selfishness, Gabriel only wished love. He desperately needed to be loved, his troubled and complicated soul demanded love like his body demanded air. And he could never get enough of it, however desperately he searched it and grasped at it. He always wondered what was wrong. And he never knew…

Gabriel glanced at the little rabbit. He named her Lizzie, and she reminded him painfully of Lizzie – of that poor broken Lizzie, silent and quiet, whom he didn't love enough, but who seemed to be the only one giving him the love he wished – until he and his life changed her. Or was it him? Maybe those were his friends? Maybe that was the society? Maybe that was her own weakness?

Gabriel wiped his face with his hand and curled up in the armchair. He wanted to be little right now. He wanted to be surrounded by love. He wanted to be appreciated. Was that really too much to wish?.. Everybody was loved around, and was he any worse than them?

The rabbit was sleeping quietly, lulled by his tender hands and her own rabbit nature. Gabriel buried his fingers in her fluffy fur and lay unmoving. He didn't want to think of his grieves any more, but his stare was fixed on Beata Beatrix, and unbidden tears filled his eyes.

'Lizzie, - he called silently, pressing up his lips, - Lizzie, love, can you hear me? I'm here alone, and I'm punished enough! I wish I was wiser then, forgive me! Lizzie…'

This was his prayer, and he repeated it so often… he closed his eyes. Indeed, he was punished enough. His heart throbbed, but he couldn't break and cry. Not because he didn't want sympathy – of this he dreamed, but never received. He just didn't want to admit defeat. If he broke right there, he would be shattered. So he just closed his eyes and lay unmoving, feeling the rabbit's heart beat fast, fast under his hand.

* * *

John ran lightly down the stairs, checked on Effie and the children in their room, and found them all fine and not in need of his help. He had to admit he was glad, because the previous day and the day before that one their entire family spent in John's own cottage in the country, and they both had a lot of trouble with children, as Ellie stayed home. John was exhausted the previous evening, and, upon their returning, went straight to bed. This morning he much overslept, but he calmed himself down with the thought that it was only natural.

He ate his late breakfast alone at the big table, but in his house – his home, - surrounded with people he loved, he didn't feel lonely. He thanked the maid with the most charming smile as he left the table and headed for the Little Room.

The Little Room was indeed tiny. It was but a little square piece of space in the back corner of the house, well-hidden and quiet. Two of its walls – a corner facing the backyard – had large windows and the branches of the trees that grew behind the house, fell right into the room when the windows were opened. When they were planning the house, Johnny first wanted, upon the discovery of this place, to make some changes and among them just to get rid of the little room, making the one before it bigger. But then Effie pointed out how good it would be to have this little quiet corner when you want to be alone, and John, after a little thinking, agreed wholeheartedly. Now the room had a soft old couch from Johnny's previous apartment and a little table, and a carpet on the floor and a couple of little pictures on the walls, but apart from that nothing. It was clear and quiet, and now Johnny wanted to be alone for a little while.

He passed across the house and headed to the Little Room. But as he opened the door, he understood he wouldn't be alone. Fred was settled on the couch comfortably, reading.

He didn't even raise his head – maybe he was too deep in the book. But Johnny smiled – he was glad Fred was there. In the cottage, constantly busy and sometimes desperate and irritated, he didn't have time to miss anyone whatsoever, but upon seeing Fred now, in his familiar old shirt and brown trousers, John felt how much he really missed Fred.

- Good morning, - he greeted, walking in in no hurry and closing the door behind his back.

Fred looked up and smiled warmly at the sight of his friend.

- Good morning, Johnny.

- Should I leave? – Johnny asked in a little hesitation. – If I will be bothering you…

- No-no, not at all! – Fred hurried, smiling. – Come, sit down.

John came up to him and settled on the other side of the couch. Fred looked back down into the book. He was warm and around him was the cloud of the clean scent of _Fred_.

Johnny knew the smell of each one of his close friends and dear ones. Sitting beside Gabriel, he could smell good alcohol and a little of sweat, someone else's perfume, animals and graphite – he knew that particular pungent smell. Hunt smelled of oil paint, church and exhaustion – Johnny didn't know how to put it better. Effie smelled a little of perfume and of milk and of cleanliness, and his children smelled like children – he experienced that so many times when he played with them or kissed them, the smell of the children couldn't – and didn't need – to be explained. But it was another part of a joy of being a father – which, after all, was indeed a joy!

And Fred – Fred smelled of soap. A scent for shaving soap, and one for his body, and one for his hair, and one for his clothes – and for some reason he smelled also a little of tea, and of something that couldn't be described in any words – he smelled like home. John watched him softly.

- So… uh… are you feeling fine? – he asked finally, feeling a little awkward.

Fred looked up at him.

- Oh yes, yes, perfect.

- What have you been doing while we were away? – the question followed immediately.

Fred shrugged.

- Nothing special, to be honest. I tried to find a job, but nobody wants a reporter, - he smiled sadly. – Everyone has their famous ones, more witty than me, who have better way with words, true masters, artists of their thing…

John raised his fair eyebrows in a compassionate expression.

- Oh Fred! They really don't know what they're missing! Believe me, when I won't be needing you to be free any time I want to work, I will find you the best place myself, as I promised!

Fred looked down with a smile.

- Johnny…

- I will, - Johnny reassured. – I actually see you finally have those patches taken off, this is the best news! I hope we work as soon as possible.

Fred sighed a little and looked back up at his friend.

- And you, how have you been?

John smiled.

- Oh, this was exhausting! – he confessed.

Fred laughed, closing his book, keeping his index finger between the pages.

- I see… you needed a good sleep, my, poor one!

Johnny smiled and nodded.

- Yes… but it was worth it all. Of that I'm sure. When we finally were all tired and gathered together… we were happy.

- So you can bear your family only when you and they are tired, - Fred summed up with a wide smile.

John looked at him still dreamily, and funny flames in Fred's eyes faded, reflecting John's expression. But then he quickly shook his head, opened the book a little too hastily and got back to reading. They sat in silence for quite a while, when John, feeling obliged to speak, asked:

- And how was William? Still the same?

Fred closed the book again – with a little more joy at that occasion visible than he wished.

- Yes, he still doesn't want to go out or talk to any body. I heard him beat his bag especially violently, and when I tried to speak to him… - he looked down. – Well, let's say it didn't work as I wished it would.

John inclined his head to the side.

- Does he at least eat?

- The maid brought him food, knocked and left it by the door. She grew really afraid of him.

John nodded understandingly.

- And Gabriel? – he suddenly remembered as Fred looked down to the book again.

Fred looked up again with a trace of annoyance.

- I would not worry about Gabriel. After all, he always ends up fine, whatever it is around.

He said this in bitter irritation and John trailed off and stared at his knees.

- You don't need to say that, you know, - he dared after a little while of silence.

Fred slammed the book closed and looked up right in front of him, pressing up his lips and taking a deep heavy breath.

- How can I not say _that_ of a man who hurt me, hurt a gorgeous, selfless lady he didn't deserve, and now hurt _you_! And don't ask what's in it to me, even though I don't care for myself – for my old foolish self!

He pressed his lips up again, holding back bitterness and rage. Johnny moved closer to him and put his hand on Fred's shoulder, making sure it wasn't too tender a gesture.

- Fred…

- What, Johnny?! – he turned to John sharply, and the look on his face was one of the most genuine indignation. – I understand that he is your friend, but how can you be so blind?! True friends don't leave their dear ones crying on the floor!

- I fell myself, and I wasn't crying when Gabriel left, - Johnny tried. – After all, why did you immediately assume that the reason to it was Gabriel?

- Intuition, - Fred dropped darkly.

- And, all in all, he just pointed out my fault and my sin! – Johnny raised his eyebrows. – That's what true friends do, that's what _you _do!

- Sin?! In you?! – Fred laughed sarcastically. – For heaven's sake, Johnny! I can not imagine a sin you can bear that, pointed out even in the cruellest way, would make you cry so hard and tell me it is death!

- Don't think I am innocent! – Johnny hurried, fidgeting with his hands nervously. – For I am not! You do not know my sins…

- And Gabriel knows? – Fred interrupted in a tone full of disdain. – Tell _me _then, Johnny, I am sure we could sort it out without a tear shed!

- No! – John exclaimed. He imagined Fred's reaction – and any possible reaction was bad. He was equally afraid of his acceptance – and a ticket to the convict prison – and of his hatred, for he loved him too much. – I can not tell you.

- Then why did you trust Gabriel with this? – Fred looked at him carefully, and his voice was quiet and concerned. – Why do you trust him so much at all, Johnny?

- Because he's my friend! – John shrugged. – Just like you, Fred!

Fred took a deep breath.

- I'm sorry, - he said quietly, - if I hurt your feelings anyhow. I just don't want you to be so desperate any more. You don't deserve it, Johnny. This is all I know.

John wanted so to hug him, to hold him close, to lean into him again and feel his warmth, he remembered being overwhelmed with that warm clean smell and he remembered Fred's hands uncurling him – such loving hands, such dear hands… but the words that Rossetti said bit him painfully every time: 'You don't want to become an old bugger, wallowing in his own fat and lust, do you, Johnny?' Johnny didn't want. His barely raised hands fell and he looked down himself.

Fred looked up quietly and gazed at Johnny's fair head. This dear creature mustn't weep in such despair again, that's what he knew. And if Rossetti was trying to stand in between them anyhow …

Fred put his arm around John's shoulders and drew him closer.

- I don't consider you an innocent child, Johnny, - he said softly and sincerely. – I know that you are a man and you know better what is good for you. I know you often say that you have not many thoughts in your head, but if you sometimes lack in logic, you _feel_ enough. Being guided by your heart is not half bad, believe me. Any one can be mistaken. _I _can be mistaken – after all, I am preconceived on the account of Gabriel, you can understand me, I believe. Decide for yourself, Johnny. Trust whom you wish, follow whom you wish, I shan't judge you, I don't have any right to. All I know is that you shall always be my dear friend, who didn't leave me in the time of trouble and saved me when I didn't know I needed salvation. Thank you for everything, Johnny…

He leaned in a little and their temples touched. John tensed for barely a moment, but didn't flinch away.

- And I won't leave you, either, - Fred went on quietly after a little pause. – I promise you. For the sake of our friendship…

- Yes… - John echoed. – For the sake of our friendship…

- If something is wrong, if something bothers you – don't hesitate to tell me. Know that I will listen to you and understand you, whatever it is.

- I can't tell you, - John said quietly and bitterly. – I'm sorry, Fred, but I can't.

- It's your choice, Johnny, - Fred said softly, with a little nod and a smile.

John looked up at him and met his kind grey eyes. Fred was understanding. Fred was accepting. Fred was there no matter what. But John simply _couldn't _give in. He would give anything for Fred to be intolerable, sly and evil, to be a pretender, a fake friend, a rude and proud scoundrel… but Fred was none of that. And that made Johnny's heart throb. The only thought that such a pure feeling of his to such a wonderful man as Fred could lead him to the convict prison or to a life of a disgusting lust-driven dirty old man made him shiver. All that was behind those kind grey eyes was so near, so inviting and good – and he couldn't accept. John smiled a little, gratefully.

- Thank you, - he said softly.

- Maybe I should now go, - Fred said, leaning away. – I have a thing to do, and you need rest…

- Yes, I wouldn't mind some rest, - John smiled. – But you absolutely don't have to go unless you really have to.

Fred nodded.

- Good. Should I bring you something?

Johnny smiled at him pleadingly.

- Would you mind so much bringing me a good cup of chamomile tea?

- You never let any body make it, - Fred smiled.

- Well, but I believe I can trust you, - John raised his eyebrows jokingly. – You yourself said that.

Fred nodded with a soft smile.

- That's right. I will bring you some in a minute.

* * *

John didn't wait long. He opened the book Fred was reading and started reading it himself, finding it quite good. Fred soon came back and put the cup onto the little table. John thanked him with a kind smile. Fred turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway.

- I just thought, - he remarked, - you have never drunk your tea so often before. Are you sure that you're fine?

- Perfectly fine, - John reassured. Fred examined him doubtfully, but decided not to argue and went out, closing the door behind his back.

* * *

The knock at the door awakened Gabriel from his trance. He blinked a few times, glanced at his rabbit – and with a smile freed the sleeve of his shirt that she had already got to chewing.

- Co-ome, give time, I will bring you something better…

The knock at the door repeated and Gabriel looked up, distracted, sitting up and settling Lizzie comfortably on his leg. She immediately tried to escape, but he held her back with his arm.

- Come in! – he called rather wearily.

Someone opened the door more confidently than Gabriel would have expected. He frowned just for a second, but as he saw Fred enter the room he understood everything and threw back his head. He was all of a sudden overwhelmed with the heaviest, most desperate fatigue.

- Good morning, Gabriel, - Fred greeted with poorly hidden pressure.

- And good morning to you, Fred, - Gabriel sighed, straightening. – What brought you to my humble room? Oh, - he brushed it off immediately, - that doesn't matter. Come in, come in.

Fred went in and stopped in front of Gabriel, straight and solemn, looking nowhere but into his eyes, but his hands gave out all his nervousness and inner tension – as usual, the hands were Fred's weak spot. Whenever he wasn't completely calm, they searched for a grasp at whatever was within reach: at the notebook, at the hat, or, in the absence of any, just at each other. Gabriel had already understood his intention when Fred, piercing him with his stare, announced:

- I wanted to talk to you, Gabriel. I see you are not busy…

Gabriel rose with a sigh.

- About Maniac and Johnny, I believe? What else can we talk about, after all?.. Sit down somewhere, I will put Lizzie back to her cage, or she'll escape.

- Lizzie? – Fred frowned a little.

Gabriel pointed his chin at the fidgeting rabbit. Fred raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He just followed Gabriel with his stare as the former went in no hurry towards the wall of cages.

Only now Fred seemed to notice all the animals in the room. His eyebrows arched and he exclaimed:

- Gabriel! I knew you had a collection of different exotic creatures, but, to God, I couldn't imagine that you had so many!

Gabriel smiled a little.

- Well, what… I need somebody to brighten up my loneliness… look at these colours! If you have a chance, you should listen to all their songs, you should touch all their furs and feathers!

Fred frowned.

- Well, Gabriel, - he said with a little distrustful smile, - if I were to name lonely people, you certainly wouldn't be among them!

Rossetti sighed and crouched down to put the rabbit into her cage.

- Tell me, Fred, - he said quietly, standing up, - who do you think I have.

Fred laughed.

- Why, that is very easy! You have the Brotherhood, who are all your friends – I do not dare and do not wish to count myself in, though, but it should be your choice, - you have all those people you gather here from time to time, you have Fanny, if no one else, – she seems to almost live here with you…

Gabriel raised his hand preventively.

- That's quite enough, Fred, - he said nothing but sadly. – I knew what you were going to say before you even uttered it…

- What are you about to say? – Fred inclined his head to the side a little. – That all these people who love you so dearly – and by these I mean the fair Millaises and, why not, poor Maniac, whatever he says or does, and even Fanny whom you in the end preferred – that all these wonderful people _don't_ love you, don't appreciate you and aren't your friends, at all? What rude a thing of you to say, Gabriel!

Gabriel sighed.

- I didn't say a word, - he said, reaching into another cage and fishing out a white rat. – Look at this one, isn't he adorable?.. Though I really want a wombat, I admire them so much… don't accuse me of such bitter and terrible meanness, please, Fred… I just… I feel like I'm odd in here, like I don't belong near you. I'm sure that these people are _my_ friends, but how much of a friend am _I _to them, I ask myself?..

He trailed off and patted his rat. Then suddenly addressed to it:

- Am I right, Mr. Tails? Am I being true? – he looked up and out of the window with a strange grin. – Ye-es, Tails knows. He knows that I'm true. He knows me. He knows his loser soul Gabriel. He knows, my brother…

Fred examined Gabriel's stooped frame in amazement. This selfish man, the puppeteer having so easily manipulated the entire brotherhood, and not only, who could make anybody act in his advantage – this Gabriel was standing now in front of him in his unbuttoned waistcoat – Fred always assumed he made those out of curtains or tablecloths – humiliating himself so cruelly and strangely, and for some reason the desperation verging on madness in his eyes was too quietly genuine. He really did feel alone. Fred knitted his eyebrows and rose slowly.

- Gabriel…

- Don't, - Gabriel shook his head and the dark bushy curls fell into his face.

- I'm…

- There's no need to, - Gabriel shook his head again, slightly. – You don't know, Fred. I've made many mistakes, and really big ones, and I'm sorry for that. I keep making mistakes, for some reason… tell me, Fred, do I not deserve to be loved?

Fred examined him head to toe. Of course, he bitterly remembered all the things Gabriel had done – to him and to the others. He didn't have any reasons to love Gabriel. And a few days – a few hours – ago Fred would have certainly said that no, Gabriel didn't deserve any kind of love for him. His influence was of no doubt destructive, and any connection with him Fred would consider dangerous. But the quiet monologues of his touched something in Fred's very heart and gave birth to doubt. Fred wasn't stupid, and he didn't divide the world into black and white, good and bad. And he wasn't insensitive, he felt people and he could understand their pains and pleasures. Yes, artists were people often too difficult to decipher. But now Fred decided he took a little step towards understanding Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

He demanded love, Fred understood. Like a little child, a younger son, the one less talented and less charming, who was doomed to remain in the shadows, not loved enough, not wanted enough, not cared of enough. Maybe everything he was doing, in the root, wasn't quite his fault?

- Everybody deserves to be loved, - he said carefully.

- And do I? – Gabriel repeated, staring into Fred's eyes.

- Everybody, - Fred repeated evasively. – Gabriel, I still want to know – not in the matter of a serious conversation, but out of my own concern and interest: what did you talk about with Johnny in his studio?

Gabriel looked at him absently.

- Fred, this is quite an impolite curiosity, - he said a little sadly. – _Our _talks cannot anyhow concern _you_, unless we invite you or decide to tell you something.

- I believe it directly concerns me, - Fred said with a little pressure, - for Johnny is my dear friend and the way your conversation left him cannot but upset me.

- That much is true, - Gabriel shrugged. – Did you ask Johnny about it?

- I did. But he wouldn't tell me. In fact, he seems scared, Gabriel. That's why I want to know. Don't take offence when I say that I know how inappropriate you can be…

- None taken, you can stop right here, - Gabriel shook his head. – But if Johnny chose not to tell you, then why should I betray our secret?

He got back down to patting his rat, whispering to it, not paying any more attention. Fred rose, infuriated.

- I'm curious what fault and sit you managed to find in this pure creature!

That was a challenge. Gabriel stood silently for a while, but he stopped patting his rat and just kept it from running away absentmindedly. Fred waited silently. Finally Gabriel spoke:

- Fred, if a man confesses his sin to a priest, can it be a priest's obligation to tell the poor man's relations what has been entrusted to him, thus putting him in shame?

Fred raised his eyebrows.

- So, if I understand right, you compare yourself to a priest?!

Gabriel nodded calmly, looking at Fred with bitterness in his eyes.

- Let me explain, Fred. I _do _compare myself to a priest in this situation, but, believe me, I have my reasons. What if I explain the whole situation to you? Will you listen to me?

Fred inclined his head to the side in tension.

- I promise to try, - he said, in an attempt to sound calm.

Gabriel nodded.

- First of all, you said that _I _found fault and sin in Johnny. And by this very statement you already made a terrible mistake. I did not. Johnny himself trusted me with one thing he felt he was guilty of, and I dare say you don't want to know what it was. Even if you are curious now, you are better off not knowing, I swear. Johnny didn't want you to know. He didn't want you to hate him.

- Does he think it is possible that I can hate him? – Fred said quietly.

- He thinks everybody would hate him if they knew, - Gabriel explained softly. – He loves you too much to lose you.

- But he did trust _you_? – Fred frowned.

- He did, for I am a generally known lust-driven madman, - Gabriel smiled a little. – I believe this thought was his guide when he told me… and though I, as a friend, couldn't but point out how wrong he was, I tried to tell him everything is forgivable and can be easily improved. But Johnny, like poor Hunt, despaired and told me this was the death of him, and I, unable to calm him down, decided it better to leave him.

Fred licked his lips. The story sounded like the truth, for he knew perfectly well how nervous Johnny could get and how strong his conscience was. But still, _him_, crying so hard…

- What can possibly be his sin?! – he exclaimed. – What could poor Johnny do so wrong to despair like that and keep hiding?! Did he cheat on Effie, Gabriel?! – he rushed to Gabriel, but quickly stepped back: - No, impossible. Then what, what?! Did he lie to someone and have terrible consequences? Did he steal? Did he kill? John couldn't do anything like this!

- And, believe me, he didn't, - Gabriel said, coming up to him and smiling a little. – Don't worry for Johnny, it's really not all that serious. He can be cured easily. Just let me care for him.

Fred glanced to Gabriel with doubt. He still couldn't forget and forgive instantly.

- Why does he hide his soul from _me_? – he said quietly. – Why does he doubt me?

- He doesn't doubt, - Gabriel put his arm around Fred's shoulders reassuringly. – He's afraid to lose you, Fred. Give him this freedom. Just love him, but don't press. He knows you are his friend, but please, spare him that safety from your knowing his secret.

Fred sighed and nodded.

- I will, - he said quietly.

Gabriel smiled a little. Fred didn't look at him. He went out quietly and closed the door behind his back. Gabriel watched him go and smirked sadly as he was left completely alone.

- Spare him the freedom from yourself, Fred, - he said quietly. – He needs it.

* * *

_'Now that I look back, I still wonder how then I could be so trustful and how I so easily forgot everything that my life had taught me. It strikes me now how stupid I was, and how easily Gabriel again bought me. Wretched fool, I considered myself a man who had learned Rossetti's ways and could protect himself, I even dared take the responsibility of protecting the others! Ah, God knows nobody needed such terrible a protector, God knows I was just a vain whelp! I find my only consolation in thinking that I was just too soft for Johnny at the moment, I was hurt by having to keep everything inside, which longed so for a release, and my feelings then thus were terribly easy to trouble, for otherwise I have no excuse for giving up so easily to Gabriel's manipulations._

_ Now that I think over – what did he use on me? And I understand bitterly that he just simply pushed me off the topic I wanted and to the one he knew would hurt and distract me. He stayed the genial puppeteer forever. He was an excellent actor and orator by nature, and I think that is why he succeeded as a teacher – but thanks to that he also tricked me again – and this was my very last mistake of that kind, the very last time I believed Gabriel's lies, but the consequences of it were truly destructive._

_ But enough foreshadowing – thankfully the paper can bear everything, - for now I'm no more writer. I'm just a bitter man in need of a confession. I confessed my own foolishness a million times already – and still I feel I can not confess it enough. The consequences of this mistake ruined lives and shattered people, and so they go as follows…'_

* * *

The darkness was cool and perfectly black. As John lay with his eyes wide open he couldn't see but blackness – solid and liquid, spreading and overflowing everywhere. He couldn't sleep. He could only stare into the emptiness and listen to his own unsteady heartbeat. The house was asleep. And Johnny could just bite his lips into blackness, unable to close his eyes.

Effie snuggled up to his side. She was warm and kind. She was fast asleep, as everyone else was. Her skin was warm, and the fabric of her nightgown tender. John painfully wondered about her. The umpteenth night in a row he wondered about her, Fred and himself, about love and friendship, about feelings he had – and got more and more lost.

It seemed to him more and more often that Gabriel was right and he got confused with the ways of his love. This got him anxious and tensed constantly. He caught himself wondering, closing his heart, hiding and moving farther away as he started watching Fred more – carefully – closely. The man's care was noticeable enough, and without intention, to call it love, but _what kind _of love was it? This Johnny could not determine, but the existence of a feeling was enough a notion for his mind, uneasy even without any external influence, to raise a panic. Fred was of a danger to him, and Johnny was being ripped in between two equally powerful forces: between love and fear.

On the other hand he had Gabriel. And Gabriel was another big question – way too big for Johnny's fair head. What did he intend? Johnny was almost sure Gabriel was about to help, but after a few humble inquiries after the promised solution, he got a quite sharp answer. At the end of the day, Gabriel still couldn't – or didn't want to – help him anyhow, and time passed, and the feelings didn't lessen. John felt that he wouldn't be able to stay reasonable for much more. Of course, he knew to what he was more inclined, and partly that scared him, and partly called, and the temptation was great, but he promised himself to keep calm for as long as possible.

But there was the third little thing, another side – and, unlike the previous two, it didn't tug him another way, but rather kept him together, kept him collected and whole. This side of his life was sniffing warmly by his side. Effie… his dear wife, his dear friend, the person who always understood him and was there, no matter what. John glanced to her and sighed quietly, then leaned a little towards her and kissed her forehead. Such a dear, dear person. How could he betray her? How could he prefer anyone to her?

He sighed. Effie kept him together. The best thing was to keep the distance for now. The distance from both – from Fred and Gabriel. For everybody's good.

John pressed Effie closer and closed his eyes, despite the little tremble in his body.

* * *

As John sat down to the breakfast table, Gabriel threw him _the glance _– and Johnny immediately knew there was something the man was about to tell him. He swallowed involuntarily – he was waiting for that glance for weeks, but now that he got the news – well, almost news, because the look promised some – now he was afraid. He looked down to his plate and concentrated on eating. The little breakfast conversation flowed past him. John was deep in thought.

- What do you think, Johnny?

This simple question, dropped by Fred, startled John. He looked around, confused, and noticed Rossetti's smirk as he looked down, pretending to drink tea, and Effie's chuckle as she hid it behind her hand.

- I'm sorry, - John mumbled, looking around, and blushed. – I'm… I'm sorry.

He repeated it as even Fred, who tried to keep a serious face, couldn't hide a wide smile.

- I… got distracted, - he tried to explain. – What were you asking me about? Fred?

He looked to Fred in search for support, as he always did when he was lost – after some time together he found out that to this drowning look Fred would always respond, no matter what. He wasn't mistaken. Fred tapped his back with a little smile.

- It's nothing, really, Johnny. We just noticed you were a little… away, so I, you know, decided to…

He gave him a meaningful look and John nodded, a smile lighting up his face again.

- Yes, I… I'm sorry.

- It's all right! – Effie reassured, the last rings of laughter still echoing in her voice. – We all understand, don't we?

Everybody nodded lively. John cast a worried glance at the only unmoving figure at the table. William was sitting at the far side, his heavy head supported by his hand, his face hidden by his unruly curls. Nobody could really tell whether he was eating, sleeping or just sitting there deep in thought. John's smile faded a little and he looked back to his plate.

- All right, - he said quietly. – Let it be…

Fred followed his look, then gazed at John himself, but said nothing. He preferred to keep it for after breakfast, for the minutes they spent on their own.

Nobody noticed how Hunt left the table. They got engaged in a lively talk about Mr. Whistler, and they noticed his absence only when Effie ran out – as usual, for the call of her child. Gabriel, John and Fred stayed, but the tense silence fell. In the absence of Effie they all somehow got rawer. John could almost feel Fred vibrate in Rossetti's presence, which made him a little nervous. But Gabriel must have felt it, too. He smirked a little at them both and rose.

- Well-well, have a nice stay, you two! – he said, giving Johnny the look again. – I will be in my studio if somebody should be needing me.

- Of course, - John smiled adorably.

They watched Gabriel go in silence. As soon as his figure was gone from sight, Fred rose and stretched himself a little.

- Johnny? – he called. – What do you think about a little walk around the town? Just to look around, you know…

John shrugged, rising as well, but he didn't look at Fred.

- You know… right today I was about to work a little… well…

He tried awkwardly to skip the topic. The ball curled in his abdomen, making him tense. He felt something like guilty, but the newly waken fear scratched his insides: it was stronger than anything else. Fred nodded, sighing.

- Yes, I understand. I understand everything, Johnny.

John knitted his eyebrows.

- Fred! _I _don't understand you, is anything wrong?

- I wanted to ask _you_, - Fred replied softly, looking up – and their eyes met. The words froze on the tip of John's tongue – was it something about jealousy that he wanted to say?

The eyes of warm grey were full of such deep and pungent sadness that John had to take a deep breath.

- Fred… - he said quietly, regretting his tone sharpening the littlest bit. – Fred, I… I didn't want to say you were jealous, oh no, Fred, I didn't!

- I didn't think anything bad of you, don't you worry, Johnny, - Fred smiled a little, looking away again, hiding the deep and bitter world of his eyes – his soul. – I understand everything. I just thought… when did we last have that long walk, like those we used to have? They were so wonderful… when did we last work together? Did you just abandon your Knight Errant painting?

John looked down. Fred said that without a trace of reproach or offence – there was just sadness. He suddenly realized that there had been too much sadness in Fred all those days – and he didn't pay attention.

- Fred… - and he stopped. He didn't have anything to justify himself. He was just trying to avoid Fred, as an unwanted relationship – or rather much wanted, but – God, so dangerous…

Fred just glanced back at Johnny and smiled.

- On the second thought… there's probably not much to worry about.

_No, there is something to worry about, _John wanted to shout. _There is a thing we should be afraid of, Fred, there is that thing that keeps me tense! _But he just reassured seriously:

- Nothing, really. I hope you aren't quite bored without me today. You can come to my studio in a little while, if you really want to…

- Can we go together now?

- No! – John protested a little more enthusiastically than he should have. No, he just had to talk to Gabriel. He needed to know what Gabriel had to say. – Come in a little while, I just need some time.

Fred nodded.

- All right. I will go to the Little Room and read there, and then come to you, if you don't mind.

John smiled. It was a relief, even though he could see Fred's hesitation.

- Very good, - he said – and, barely himself understanding what he was doing, he hugged Fred abruptly and tightly. – Oh Fred! – he exhaled into his shoulder, drawing in the smell and the warmth, trying to remember them, to take them and hide to keep close to his heart – then pushed him away quickly and ran to the stairs.

Fred smiled a little to himself, but he didn't go to the Little Room. He followed Johnny quietly and watched him as he ran towards the door of Rossetti's studio and rushed inside. He bit his lower lip. He didn't like it at all, he didn't like how it worked – for Johnny, for himself, he didn't like the presence of Rossetti in that story – and, the worst thing, he suspected something, he had that heavy feeling of something coming, and he couldn't do anything about it. Gabriel was of a menace – and, Fred understood, not to him, to Johnny. To Johnny he loved so much.

Fred took a deep breath. Now was the time. If not now – when? He turned his back to the stairs confidently and headed outside, to the garden.

* * *

This time he was walking alone. His heels clicked against the paved path evenly and slowly. The day was grey, but the birds were chirping in the trees – and he was silent. Before, when he went for walks, he would whistle, or sing something quietly. Before he had somebody to sing with him.

Fred sighed. Now he had the time to think over Gabriel, Johnny and Hunt. But he had already thought it over and over, one way and backwards, and understood much. He didn't want to understand any more. He wanted his dear friend beside him. He wanted to hear his laughter – genuine, silvery and powerful. When did he last hear it?

Fred sighed, pressing up his lips and looking down, straight at the pave. He didn't even remember…

* * *

Nobody answered to the knock at the door. Fred nodded to himself sadly and pushed the door of the summer house. It opened easily, with a little creak, and Fred looked into the poorly lit room.

The light from the street was too dim and grey that day, and all the windows of the summer house were curtained. Hunt's abode in the Millaises' grounds reminded much rather of a chapel, and now that feeling was emphasized with the dark sturdy figure kneeling, his back to Fred, in the middle of the room.

- William, - Fred called softly.

Hunt didn't respond, but Fred didn't expect much. He went in quietly, closing the door behind his back, and knelt down beside William.

- May God forgive me, - he said softly and seriously.

- May He forgive us, - Hunt echoed. And, after a little pause: – Why did you come, Fred?

- There are things I have to share with you.

William closed his eyes. There were a few more minutes of silence.

- Why me? – he asked finally.

- I just have nobody else to go to, - Fred confessed simply. – I honestly need help from someone like you, William. If you let me talk to you just now – God knows, we may as well save this entire house.

William sighed, then stood up heavily. Fred followed him

- What do you want to save this house from again? – Hunt asked wearily. – You always seem to see evils where there aren't any. Pardon me, Fred, but if I see that this is the case, I should just ask you to leave. Politely first.

Fred played with his fingers nervously.

- Listen to me first, I beg you, - he pleaded, looking Hunt straight into eyes.

William sighed again and sat down onto the bed, then tapped the place beside him, inviting Fred to sit down. Fred nodded and sat down a little nervously, still fidgeting with his hands. The bridge of his nose itched in bad premonition.

- Please, William, don't rise up in arms about what I'm going to say…

William gave another long, heavy sigh.

- It is about Gabriel, I already know, - he said quietly.

- It is, but please, listen! – Fred clasped his hands. – William, now there _is _trouble! I'm looking at what he has turned _you _into, you poor man, and I can't look at you without a lump in my throat!

- It's not his fault, - William repeated automatically.

- Ah, but it _is_! – Fred exclaimed, jumping to his feet. – William, I'm begging you, open up your eyes! Look around! Look at yourself! You are a true genius of an artist, you are a wonderful man, but what are you doing now, because of _him_?! You have locked yourself up and never come out!

- So what, Fred? – William looked up at him, and a bitter smile appeared on his lips, as his clear eyes opened wide. – It's my choice. Gabriel just showed me what _I _turned myself into. Nobody is to blame for me. I'm a lustful animal, Fred, and everything else is just illusions. I'm not angry at you, in fact, I'm grateful. But you have nothing to do here. Go talk to Johnny, please…

- Johnny is his next prey! – Fred exclaimed, and tears sounded in his voice. He suddenly understood it in the fullest. – Johnny is the next you!

William looked up at him again, this time something like interest sparkled in his eyes. Fred stood in front of him, and his eyes were full of tears.

- This, _this _is what he wants! – he exclaimed. – He wants us close at hand! He wants us _his_! William, he's like a naughty child, and we are his toys! He doesn't want us to leave him, he just wants somebody to stay around and praise him, and please him! Maybe he's not a bad man, maybe he is just tired of being a loser, I know he is your friend, William, I know, I understand, but – don't you see it?! Don't you remember when it all started?

- I don't remember. When? – William said in a strange, almost lively, voice.

- When we said we were growing out of the Brotherhood! – Fred slapped his own hips. – After that talk everything went downhill, I understand it now!

- What a stupid thought! – William frowned, but something sounded in his voice that encouraged Fred.

- I had a talk with him personally! – he announced.

William's eyes opened even wider, while his eyebrows moved down in a frown, seemingly holding the eyeballs back to prevent them from rolling out.

- What – just now?

- A few days ago, - Fred confessed. – But what does it matter?!

- And you only just came to me with the question of saving this house? – William inclined his head to the side and examined Fred head to toe.

- I am just a fool, - Fred said suddenly quietly, sitting down beside Hunt. – I needed so much time to think of all the changes in John…

- Johnny? – William straightened.

- Yes. You know, I didn't notice how odd he had become. He seemingly… avoids us, you know?

- Well, - William shrugged, - that happens, after all. He's an artist, and with a huge family… maybe he's tired of us! And it isn't unusual to avoid _me _these days, on the second thought…

- No, you… you don't understand! – Fred looked into William's eyes almost desperately. – He used to be so kind, he used to go for walks with me, he used even to paint me! We were such close friends, he would never hide away from me! He trusted me, William, he trusted me with his life! And I could never betray him!

- You'd better not, - William squinted. – If a hair falls from this child's fair head, I will get merciless!

- This child has five children of his own already, - Fred remarked with a little involuntary smirk.

- This doesn't change the fact that he's just a child himself, - Hunt smiled slightly, and Fred couldn't but agree inside.

- But this isn't the point, - he continued after a few seconds. – He has become strange. And he becomes the strangest after he stays alone with Gabriel. Even a little time spent together with Rossetti – and I can't recognize John. Around us he becomes nervous, he constantly drinks his chamomile tea, as if he couldn't live without it, he… he, like, closes his heart from us, he hides. Except he cannot hide. Because, as you say, he's too much of a child.

William watched him tensely.

- Are you sure of it? – he asked finally. – You know what condition I have been in, I can't know whether you are right or not.

- It is true, - Fred nodded. – And _I _am sure. Johnny's tears are the truest evidence.

Maniac knitted his eyebrows. And, seeing that, Fred sighed and told him – told him everything he had to experience those days, and, however careful he was to hide his feelings, they slipped in his voice.

- He's like our little brother, - he managed as he finished, not looking at Maniac. – The little one. And the more I am afraid for him. I don't want what happened to you to happen to him, and I want you to return to your usual condition – I want you to become Maniac again, even if it should mean you hating me – let it be! I just want everything to be like it had been… before…

- And you waited for so long! – William exclaimed, standing to his feet sharply. All his weariness was magically gone. He was enraged.

- I wasn't quite sure of anything, - Fred tried to justify himself. – It was not more that premonitions and such, and Johnny seemed to have got better, but then… I think he's in danger now. All because I have no idea what that 'disgrace' he was talking about is, or what Gabriel can do to him to keep him dependent. William, will you help me?

- You ask! – Hunt roared. – Fred, to God, I couldn't suspect! Forgive me for everything, I have been wrong a thousand times! I should help you now! We will stop Gabriel together, whatever it is he's planning, whatever complicated of a web this spider is making! Oh, a serpent, a serpent, I knew he was a serpent, I always knew!

And he rushed at Fred, grabbed his shoulders, raised him and pressed to his chest. Fred, shocked but pleased, threw his arms around William and smiled a little. After all, he was glad that William was a maniac again, and, of course, he was glad to have his help.

William leaned away and examined Fred's face.

- You are me brother, Walters! – he announced, - and I should never say otherwise!

Fred smiled.

- I hope so, William, - he said, trying and failing to sound calm.

* * *

Gabriel didn't raise his head when Johnny went in, he didn't notice him even when Johnny stopped right behind him in silent hope that Gabriel would see him, wanting and hesitating to call. Rossetti was looking softly at Beata Beatrix, his lips were moving, the shadows were running across his face – maybe he was saying something to her, something nobody wanted – needed – to hear. Johnny didn't dare to interrupt them. He felt odd. He backed off quietly and headed slowly towards the door, ready to escape.

- Don't hurry, Johnny boy.

John started. Rossetti turned to him and smiled a little. His eyes were still misty.

- You've just evidenced a momentary weakness, - he said, shaking his head. His dark eyes sparkled strangely.

- You… wanted to see me, - John dared quietly.

Gabriel stood up and wiped his face with his hands.

- Yes. Yes, that's right, Johnny boy. I wanted. I can congratulate you today!

Johnny inclined his head to the side.

- Any good news for me, Gabriel?

- Excellent news! – Rossetti announced, already smiling. – I have excellent news for you, I have something for you you've been looking forward to!

John was staring at him, waiting. Gabriel examined him and laughed.

- Ah, you don't remember already! I shall remind you, Johnny. I have the cure to sodomy now, the cure for your feelings to Fred! Remember? – this is what you wanted, child!

Johnny frowned, but for barely a moment. His frown turned into a smile and he looked down.

- Why, thank you, Gabriel, - he said softly, - but I think I don't need that any more now.

Gabriel's smile fell, his deep black eyes sparkled from under his heavy eyebrows. There was an uneasy pause. Johnny looked up and smiled at Gabriel, and his face was shining like the sun. Rossetti took a deep breath.

- But why? – he managed, trying not to change his tone of voice, but the notes of worry sounded as he spoke, and fear flashed in his eyes. – Has anything changed, Johnny? Did you choose the way to an old bugger John Millais, wallowing in his own fat, so greasy and lustful, with hands constantly wet and teeth rotten?

Johnny laughed, quite nervously this time, but tried to keep himself together.

- Oh, how can you say so, Gabriel?! – he exclaimed, smile not leaving his face. – I honestly can not understand you! You should be proud of me, I have learned to keep myself in control!

Gabriel was silent, amazed. Johnny interpreted his silence in his favour and went on excitedly, encouraged:

- Yes, I mastered this, thanks to you and Effie, Gabriel! I am now feeling fine!

- …So, you don't love Fred any more, - Gabriel interrupted, inclining his head to the side a little, seemingly gathering his thoughts together. His mind was working quickly to find a solution to this new problem, but Johnny didn't pay attention.

- Oh, no, Gabriel, of course not! I love him as I did before, I just now know _how _I should love him, and I am responsible for myself and my actions.

Gabriel smirked. He came up to Johnny and put his arm around his shoulders, leading him to the window.

- Johnny, my humble bird, - he said, and laughter echoed in his voice, - you remind me of my friend, who will live happily ever after in the convict prison!

He kept a dramatic pause and watched Johnny's smile fall not without delight. Inside he knew oh so well that it was cruel to hurt this man-child so terribly, but he was sure he was doing it for the greater good. He already believed his own calculations, and he always kept in mind the poor himself. Johnny watched him with wide eyes, already lost again. He was now completely Rossetti's. Gabriel smiled widely and took the strings in his hands.

- Yes, yes, you do! – he exclaimed. – You think you are strong enough to overcome the wickedness of your own soul. Poor child, nobody is that strong!

- But, Gabriel… - Johnny began.

- Do you know how you look? – Rossetti looked right into Johnny's clear eyes. – Extremely strange. One day your beloved Fred will come and confront you with this, and what will you do, tell me, Johnny?

Johnny looked down. Gabriel patted his shoulder.

- He will come to you and say: 'Johnny, why are you avoiding me?' And what are you going to say to him?

- But I am not avoiding him! – Johnny tried.

- Ah, but you do!

John's shoulders fell. He bit his lower lip. Gabriel patted his shoulder again.

- Oh, don't be sad, my dear boy. I will show you everything in its worst, and, I assure you, you will never wish to look at a man any way more than friendly again. It's like a magical cure, believe me. Everything will be fine if you trust me.

Johnny looked up at Gabriel and hope shone in his big and sad clear eyes.

- Will it?..

- I promise you it will! – Gabriel nodded. – Just trust me. This evening meet me in the backyard, I will make some preparations and come around at about eight o'clock. Don't let anyone engage you in any business! – he raised his index finger. – Better if you spend the rest of the day somewhere alone. Stay especially far from Effie and her children.

A smile appeared on Johnny's face again. He nodded readily. Gabriel tapped his back.

- Good boy, Johnny… and, for God's sake, don't talk to Fred.

- I promise you! – John exclaimed, running to the door of the studio. – Thank you, thank you, Gabriel!

And he disappeared, slamming the door behind his back. Rossetti smirked delightedly.

- This is better, - he said to himself. – Now, my dear Johnny, you should brace yourself. It will hurt, but you will forgive me. You always forgive. It's for your own good…


End file.
